Storm Song
by satirical
Summary: It was raining the night we met. Cleansing rain.... A college girl, a businessman, the romance of similar minds. [AU] [Kikyou x Sesshoumaru]
1. one: typhoon season

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**STORM SONG**

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.part one.

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It was raining the night we met. Kagome liked to call it 'raining cats and dogs.' Inuyasha called it 'rain you could drown in so don't you dare step outside.' Grandmother Midoriko called it 'the death of sky spirits.'

I just called it rain. Simple, heavy rain that pebbled my skin and soaked me down past my sweater and blouse to the my very bones, rain that hit like needles on my cheeks, that filled the potholes and dips in the road with puddles that rose to mid-calf. Cleansing rain.

I had waited by the bus stop for half an hour, finally realizing with a sigh that it must have been caught up in traffic and it'd be faster to walk home. After all, my papers and books were in my waterproof bag and I was no stranger to water. So I started off in the direction of my home, the Higurashi house, that stood next to a shrine, at the very end of the town. I lived there with my cousin, Kagome, and her mother.

As I walked, I was thinking about the essay I'd have to write for sociology. The classwork was strenuous; our professor enjoyed working the students to their limit. I didn't care, because I could do as much work as he demanded of me. The others in my class did, and complained all the time. Incompetent and foolish—why take a class if you can't do the work?

Deep in thought, I stumbled into a car parked by the road. The driver's door had just opened. It was your car, and you rose out of it with a black umbrella and a peeved expression. Watch where you're going, you snapped. I watched you impassively, but inside I was wincing at myself for losing my composure and doing something as ungraceful as bumping into a car. Something like what Kagome would do.

You slammed the door shut on your sleek silver Mercedes. I noticed with interest that your had long white hair despite the fact you looked to be barely 30. It reminded me of Inuyasha's hair that Halloween he donned that long white wig as a parody of his older brother.

Remembering the encounter so I could tell it to my cousin, I began to step away, leaving you to your stalled car. Wait, you said. Your expression darkened, pinching aristocratically. I turned and gazed at you. The rain was pelting into my hair, sliding down my skin. It felt painful. Delicious.

You're not even going to apologize?

I blinked. How could I have forgotten that most basic of mannerisms? I bowed.

I'm sorry.

Then I straightened and turned back toward my destination. You switched your attention to your car. I heard you swear under your breath. I kept walking.

Why don't you have an umbrella?

What a rude question. I ignored you.

Answer me.

Your voice is like your face—haughty and high-class.

I turned around and gave you the most withering, disdainful gaze I could muster.

You weren't phased.

I should've known; you've seen that look on your face all the time, don't you? If you aren't frightened by your reflection, why should you be frightened of a 19-year-old schoolgirl with neither horns nor forked tail? You repeated your question.

Because I didn't think to bring one.

You watched me, and I knew what you were thinking. You were a stranger, tall and imposing, and I knew exactly what you thought. I could read it in your face, I could read it in each muscle that composed your disgusted expression.

What an idiot.

There we stood, in the rain. My dark, long hair slicked to my face and skull with the rain, my sweater saving me from immodesty, water dripping down my skin: pitiful. You studying me placidly, taking your sweet time, in a black suit that's getting wetter by the minute. I had half a mind to tell you to get back into a car, dial a tow-truck, and save your pristine clothing.

And then you took your umbrella, the one that saved your hair from the rain, that made sure that your head wasn't as wet as your ankles, and handed it out to me.

Take it.

No, thank you, I said, bowing again. I thought you were as much of an idiot as you thought me. I was already covered head to toe with rain. You weren't; you had hope of salvation. I told you I liked to walk in the rain.

You snorted disbelievingly, nostrils flaring.

If you won't take it, you said, then I'll follow you. You locked your car and came to stand by me, holding the umbrella over my head. I curled my lip in anger.

I never said I needed your aid, I told you coldly.

Don't refuse a Samaritan, you replied.

Somehow, amid the exchange of tempers, we found ourselves smiling cautiously at each other. You were, I realized, very much like me. So I permitted you to walk me home, together under the black umbrella. We walked in silence, neither saying much because it seemed like there was nothing to say but niceties, and we were not about to exchange those so soon after our demi-argument.

When we arrived at the foot of the temple, near where my house was, I thanked you. It was awkward, because I felt strangely awkward around you in a way that had nothing to do with the fact that we were unfamiliar. It was awkward because even if we didn't _know_ each other, we still comprehended each other. Perfectly, in fact.

You started as you realized where we were. Who are you, you asked.

It was rude, again, but by then I didn't care. I had to answer your question out of courtesy, and then I was off, away from this tall man that made me blush, who I couldn't look at because I was afraid he'd notice my expression. Like a crush.

Higurashi, Kikyou.

Higurashi? You're related to that Kagome girl?

This time it was I who started in surprise. Yes, I said. She's my cousin.

Your eyes, amber-brown, traveled all along my face. I felt like I was burning. This must be what Kagome feels like when she's alone with Inuyasha, I told myself. And that's when I realized something that had been nagging at me this whole time. His eyes—amber-brown eyes—were just like Inuyasha's.

Sesshoumaru. The name came unbidden to my tongue. Sesshoumaru, Inuyasha's brother. Your lips parted. You stared at me for another couple of seconds, then suddenly you were dark and unreadable, even for me. You turned into a shadow I couldn't understand, a mirror, a glass figure. You bowed, said goodbye, and left. You took your black umbrella and your black suit and your long silver hair down the steps leading to the temple and walked as fast as you could without losing your self-control back along the way we came.

But I'll bet that you didn't realize until you were in your car, breathing heavily and berating yourself for helping a child out, that you'd already lost your self-control. You'd lost it before you asked me what my name was. You'd lost it even before you showed your surprise in front of my home. You'd lost it as soon as you offered to me your umbrella. You'd lost it when you showed you cared.

I came home to the sound of a drunk Inuyasha singing karaoke, being cheered on by Kagome, her brother Souta, and her grandfather.

I went up the stairs without telling them I was home. I changed in front of my mirror, looking at myself. I looked at my pale skin, at my lank hair, at my pathetic thin figure, and I wondered: would you ever find this little body attractive? I dwelled on this thought for as short a period of time as possible, then dismissed it and threw it away like an broken toy. It whined its death mournfully.

All I knew about you besides what I had gathered of your personality from those ten minutes we spent walking quietly was that you were thirty-four, half-brother of Inuyasha, and reputedly homosexual.

After all, I thought when I curled up in my bed and turned on my Haydn to drown out the singing downstairs, you lived with a man named Jaken. How could you not be…


	2. two: aftermath

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**STORM SONG**

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* * *

.part two.

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I know what you did that night. You went home and you had a glass of brandy on the rocks. You told Jaken to turn his television off or else he'll have to find another friend to live with. You smoked a cigarette with your brandy and looked out the window of your sixth-floor flat at the view of the Tokyo skyline. You wondered what was wrong with you, why the attraction to a mere slip of a girl, between drags on your cancer-stick.

You were angry at yourself, because I looked so much like your half-brother's girlfriend.

You hate your delinquent half-brother.

You thought about it, you finished your alcohol, and you decided you don't hate him. But he roars across at boundaries and borders in your mind that shouldn't be crossed. He has no respect for the family, no interest in working or going to college even though he's nearing twenty-one. He drives a motorcycle and he—you suspect—sells drugs. He's dating a high-school girl. He's sleeping with a high-school girl.

You lifted your cig to your lips and hiss in another breath.

You went to her house today, that girl, Kagome. He crashed his motorcycle last Tuesday and it's still in the shop, so he annoyed you enough that you agreed to drive him. You wanted Jaken to, but Jaken was busy visiting the drag-clubs downtown. You took him to the Higurashi house, barely glancing at the girl waiting at the front step. You told him he had to get his own ride back and he agreed loudly, flying to that seventeen-year-old and smothering her with a kiss. You had to look away, but you realized that she was pretty, and pure. You had actually thought she'd be a whore.

Then you drove down the street, window wipers on high, but barely ten minutes away from that house that you didn't want to go to, on that street that was so small, only one lane could fit on it, your car broke down. Your Mercedes.

You thought about kicking a dent into your car. You took breaths to calm yourself, you counted backwards from fifteen. Then you opened the door.

Something thumped.

You looked up and there's a young girl, drenched in the soaking rain. She's startled. You're angry.

One thing leads to another, and suddenly you're in front of the Higurashi house, where your brother had disappeared not twenty minutes ago, with this girl who, you recognized, is just as young as that Kagome. And looks like her. You suddenly wanted to slap her, to demand why she hadn't told you who she was before you made a fool out of yourself. You couldn't believe you were so blind.

And then you left, cursing yourself and your brother and heaven in general. You felt dirty for thinking you wanted to kiss this girl, this Kikyou.

You called a tow truck and took a taxi home. You regretted not taking your BMW out; you liked your Mercedes better than your BMW. You got back to your apartment, yelled at Jaken, poured out brandy, lit a cigarette, and stared out of the window.

You thought about the girl. You thought about Inuyasha. You thought about thinking too much.

You tried to drink yourself drunk but you hold your liquor too well. You asked Jaken when he got downstairs, decked out for the clubs, why you stopped being gay.

He told you bluntly. You like tits too much, you has been.

You nearly choked him.

You changed out of your wet clothes and fell asleep nude. Your window was open, and you could hear the pitter-patter of rain against your window, making a rhythm rapid and furious. Like your heart when you found that you were a lustful idiot just like your little brother, your annoying, irreverent little brother.

You fell asleep dreaming of me, of my short gray skirt and my waist-length black hair, blacker than night. You dreamed of how it smelled, of entwining your fingers into it, of kissing it.

You woke up and vigorously scrubbed yourself in the shower to rid yourself of the faint scent of guilt.

I can tell you truthfully that I didn't dream of you that night, you lech. I dreamt of a townhouse, elegantly decorated, where I sat with jasmine tea in one hand and a newspaper in the other hand. When I woke up, I woke up with sweat down my back and in my scalp, because I remembered that next to my tea, there was a black-handled hunting knife. I remembered that there was nothing outside of my windows and, when I looked, nothing on the television. The news just read "danger, politics, danger, politics" like it was all worthless, all meaningless.

I guess it was.

In the morning, the sky was gray. The rain had stopped by then, but the clouds hadn't cleared away. I went downstairs to find Inuyasha on the couch, with Kagome's cat on his stomach, curled. He was snoring. I realized, suddenly, that there were no cans of beer or bottles of vodka nearby. He wasn't drunk last night.

I just wasn't thinking. I assumed he was drunk. I looked at the television: the karaoke machine wasn't out. I'd invented the karaoke part out. There was a movie on the ground, some comedy or other, and the television was on VCR mode.

I washed my face in the bathroom, trying to clear my eyes and, thereby, my head. My aunt was in the kitchen, making breakfast for us all; rice, miso soup, cut-up trout.

I turned to her. Did Kagome and Inuyasha sing karaoke last night?

She frowned. No, why?

Oh… my memory must be playing tricks on me, then.

She smiled and let it go, in Japanese tradition. Why can't you be like that? You and your brother are alike in that regard: you have no respect for others. You only respect your family. Your brother only respects Kagome.

Yes, don't ask me anymore. I did inquire after you with your brother. Inuyasha said something like this:

Stuffy. Boring. Spiteful. Why're ya asking?

No reason.

You know, I expected you to stay away, once you turned and left. I knew why you did; you didn't want to associate with anyone your brother associates with. You can imagine my surprise when you turned up next, as if you wanted to speak to me. But then again, selfish little girl I was, I didn't realize you might have had other business…


	3. three: avoidance

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**STORM SONG**

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.part three.

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I hate it when you call me 'perfect Kikyou.' That's what Kagome calls me, that's what Inuyasha calls me, that's what my professors and my classmates call me. So please don't call me that.

…See? You can't help it when I ask you sincerely. You're soft. Don't look at me like you're going to snap me in half for calling you soft. You can't do it. You'll waste your energy. It all gets converted into fire in the bed. Which you don't want to think about _outside _of bed, because I'm not even twenty yet. Fool.

That day (the day after), on campus, I was reading. The textbook was tedious and difficult to comprehend; do you blame me for looking up, diverting my attention? I was under the shade of a large sycamore tree, hair pulled back into a low ponytail. You were standing several meters away, briefcase in hand. You looked at me like there wasn't anything else in the world to look at, and I couldn't pull my eyes away. My first thought was that you'd somehow traced me here, that you _wanted_ to find me. I didn't notice that your hand was clenched into a fist, nor that the steely glint in your eyes was bitterness and not whatever emotion I chose to read into it, until later, when I had nothing to think about but that silent encounter.

I smiled at you, a little. I wanted some sort of response—a wave, a nod. Maybe you'd even come and speak to me, asking me how I was doing, or whether or not I caught cold. I didn't bother to envision anything romantic; I'd already accepted that you were of a completely separate orientation, and that you were with someone named Jaken. What an ugly name. It crashed into your teeth and sounded like crunching glass.

You turned around without even a blink and you strode off in the other direction. I couldn't believe it. What had just happened? And suddenly I wanted drown myself, because I was an idiot for thinking that twenty minutes together could lead to something akin to friendship. You were thirty-four, I was still in school, and of course you have values, dammit.

But I couldn't stop watching you. I kept my eyes on your back, watching you disappear into the milling students and teachers. Before you were out of sight, though, an attractive female professor drew close. She was smiling as she spoke to you; she cocked her head coyly, and fell into step next to you.

Don't you see he's gay? I wanted to tell her. I wanted something that made me… not _care_. I wanted to be the one walking next to you, smiling up into your chiseled face, saying something witty. But I'm not old enough, smart enough, mature enough. Either that or you hated me for knowing your brother.

I closed my textbook, packed it away, and lifted my head up toward the bright sky. I wished it were raining again.


	4. four: fancy dining

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STORM SONG

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.part four.

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Don't blame heaven for being fickle. The cause of our relationship, however tenuously it began, was either an invisible hand in the sky, tugging us like mannequins across a great glass chessboard, or serendipity. I prefer to believe in the latter. That there exists some sentient being to whom all our secrets and desires are as clear as water, who sees us as absolutely self-serving, who gleefully manipulate us, sounds too much like religion—any religion—for me to believe in it. Oh, you didn't know I hate the gods? It's strange, isn't it, considering I lived next to a shrine.

Yet consider all the terrible things that happen in life: death, destruction, natural disasters. Consider the petty human mistakes that break you down, make you cry, tear you to pieces. If there are gods, they are cruel and sadistic. I find it easier and so much more comfortable to believe in a world dominated by sinning, mistaking humans, who can always be redeemed in the end, than by the whim of creatures that don't give a damn about the well-being of the primates below, living off of the muck and mud.

Like I said, serendipity.

I regret to call myself that which everyone calls me: a teacher's pet. But being fondly regarded by many a professer, I was invited to a philosophical dinner two nights after our first meeting. I went with a female teacher, one Mitsui Kaede, who doted on me and pronounced me brilliant. I loved her, coldly and passively, for that.

There was only one other student invited, Kurosawa Tsubaki. She was the editor of the school paper, another fervent student, and I expected to be seated near her, as according to rank. Yet the one who organized the event, the professor-turned-author Suikotsu Makoto, believed in randomization and (dare I say it?) serendipity. So strangely enough, I was seated three seats down from professor Mitsui, seven seats down from Kurosawa-san, and right across from you.

The hostess looked up our seat numbers in her register. She led Professor Mitsui first, seating her next to an affluent philanthropist. Then she came back for me and led me toward where you were sitting. I didn't notice you at first, because I was wondering why I wasn't seated near my patroness. When I realized I was to be seated across from an amber-eyed, white-haired man, I felt a dull, distant weight sinking in my stomach. You, of course, had an expression like ice, as if the frigid fury of your glance could freeze me in my tracks.

You wore a navy blue western suit, but you'd removed your jacket. It gave you a vulnerable look, like your shields had been dropped. I regretted wearing nothing more attractive than a slim dress made of dark, heavy material.

What are you doing here?

Rude question asked urbanely, as usual.

I was invited, I replied.

Down the table, Professor Mitsui shrugged apologetically. She had not known of the unorthodoxy of this dinner. I nodded to show her I was in no way uncomfortable—not at all, considering the hospitality of those who were sitting near me…—and tucked my hands into my lap.

Enjoying yourself? I inquired politely.

Not anymore, you growled. Then you gave me this chill little smile.

The dinner was passably good. The restaurant itself made delicious cuisine, but the combination of a hostile environment and strange, international recipes made the food less palatable than usual. Tanaka Kagura, a leading expert on evolution of human behavior through the supernatural, urged on conversation like a flowing brook you had no choice but to flow upon.

Have you read the book yet? she asked.

Yes, you said between sips of sake.

It was absolute drivel, wasn't it?

Perhaps, yet his research was impeccably done.

Of course, of course.

And you? She turned to me with a faint air of superiority. Have you read the book?

Not yet. I hadn't the honor of receiving an early copy. I will be reading it tonight, however. I bowed my head and tried to look sincere, though I disliked the woman with a strange intensity. I think it was the way she sat so close to you, almost touching your wrist with her hand. I noticed you didn't pull away.

Really? Tanaka Kagura pretended interest.

I did, however, keep in contact with Suikotsu-san during his writing period, since he taught me last year. He revealed to me that he has discussed his conclusions about humanity's idea of common morality and universal rights with leading experts around the world. I support him, knowing that he would have considered all options before he decided on a thesis, I said, remembering the last correspondence he had sent me.

Ah, how charming, Kagura laughed. I wish I were as young and idealistic as you.

I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment. I forced an aloof nod.

But you, your attention was now on me. You regarded me with your eyes like cut stones, you made me self-conscious with your gaze. Your detached expression hid something; I felt it if I could not see it. When you spoke, the timbre of your voice sent vibrations up my spine.

I agree, you stated out of the blue. Suikotsu would have considered all options. You can't blame him if his decision does not agree with your perception of the world, right Kagura?

Oh, you called her Kagura. I hadn't noticed that the two of you were friends, not until you called her by her first name and she tossed her hair over her shoulders and edged ever closer to you. I had to remind myself you that you could not like her, because she was a woman. I had to remind myself as I spooned crème brulée into my mouth and forced myself to swallow.

Did you see that? Did you know, instinctively, what I was thinking? Of course you did—women must fall daily at your feet, like lambs for the slaughter. And you'd turn them all away. Thirty-four-year-old bachelor, Inumura Sesshoumaru, never married, never engaged, rarely romantically implicated.

But I couldn't help it—I had to wonder what it looked like, the two of you alone in a dimmed room. Your hand curled around her waist, your lips on her neck, your hair falling like a curtain around your faces. I wondered if you made love loudly or in silence, and whether or not she pleased you, Tanaka Kagura of the large eyes and cupid's mouth.

At the very head of the dinner table was Suikotsu-san, who treated me respectfully and always had an ear for my remarks. He didn't notice me; a pasty foreigner leaned forward, mustache quivering as he detailed some concept he had gleaned from the book. But I could tell Suikotsu-san didn't want to speak to him, that he ached to talk with his Japanese compatriots whom he had not seen for a good year. I made a mental note to congratulate him after the dinner and ask for his autograph.

Turning to my drink, an herbal mix from India, I caught your eyes over the rim of my tall cup. You reminded me of a mountain—dangerous, indecipherable. When you looked away, it was to speak to Tanaka-san privately, to make her laugh and lower her long, curling eyelashes. The gentlemen sitting on either side of me paid more attention to their meal than to the lonely, quiet girl beside them. How tedious—I thought about Kagome and Inuyasha, probably playing Marco Polo in the living room at home. I never enjoyed physical pursuits, but even that asinine game would be more entertaining than seatmates who ignored me.

Perhaps, I thought, Suikotsu-san would take me on a walk and tell me the secrets of the book, something he hasn't told anyone else. Perhaps, just like last year, he would take my hand in his surreptitiously, philosophizing steadily through his blush. Perhaps he would take my mind off of you.

Jealous now? Don't go rushing off to kill Suikotsu-san—this was all a long time ago. Sit down, keep your arm on my shoulders, and listen. After all, you made _me_ jealous with Tanaka-san. I'm just repaying a favor.

After the last course, the more sought-after of experts left. Professor Mitsui nodded to me, telling me she needed to get home and take care of her daughter. I nodded my assent, catching Suikotsu-san's eye. He seemed genuinely glad I had attended, and waited for me by his seat while he bid goodbye to a particularly persistent fan.

Suikotsu-san, I said, bowing hello. How are you faring?

Better now that you're not continually calling me sensei, he replied jauntily. There were slivers like bruises under his eyes—he was putting up a jolly front. I have a copy of my book especially for you, he told me quietly, pulling it from his briefcase. His breath was warm against my ear; I failed to suppress a smile.

How kind, I murmured.

Come to my homecoming with me, he invited after answering a couple questions on his stay in Germany. There will be many there, and it will be boisterous. I'll need an anchor to make sure I don't get drunk and pass out.

You? Drunk? Dear man, who do you think you're kidding?

He laughed then, his quiet and self-deprecating laugh. Of course you're right, like always. Will you come?

I nodded shyly, my hand tight on the cover of his book. I couldn't wait to open it and read. He took me by the elbow and directed me out, bowing to the last stragglers as they exited the restaurant. His car, a little Honda, was waiting by the curb.

Now I have a secret to confide: I did see you behind us, glaring at us. I saw you as I left the restaurant, when I was buttoning up my coat. You had Tanaka Kagura by your side, and a blue BMW at the curb. Strands of your white hair was blowing in the wind. I noticed you because I saw that despite the luxury you were surrounded by, your attention was on Suikotsu-san and I, speaking together like the best of friends.

That's how well I could read you even then. Does it still seem strange to you now, that we make such a good match?

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_Thank you,_** Absent of Grace**,_ for reviewing. Your praise means a lot, considering this is the first Sess/Kik fic I've decided to post. Yeah, I was originally going to have that happen, too, that it was Inuyasha making generalizations about his older brother, but then the characters just evolved and took the stories into their own hands... Besides, gay Sesshoumaru is too easy and too funny to pass up on. Everyone else who's reading, (and I know there are other people out there...) please review, too. :-)_


	5. five: physical signals

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**STORM SONG**

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.part five.

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There were a total of twenty people at Suikotsu-san's party—twenty close friends and admirers. His colleagues Bankotsu, Renkotsu, Jakotsu, Kyokotsu, Mokotsu, Ginkotsu left after a cursory congratulations, leaving fourteen, myself and Suikotsu-san included.

Suikotsu-san's home was a four-room flat on the second floor of a relatively comfortable if unglamorous neighborhood. Practical and utilitarian, like Suikotsu-san himself, I felt immediately at ease when I slipped inside behind him. Sipping champagne and reclining on his singular, poorly chosen couch, I had sparce conversation with the fourteen who were left. I hadn't recognized any of them—that wasn't surprising, however, being as they were all at least seven years older than I.

An hour into the festivities, Suikotsu took my hand gently and led me to his private office. He wouldn't meet my eyes, and instead hemmed and hawed his way until he found a photograph he'd meant to give me. In faint pink color, it was of a singular round orb suspended in the air by a series of wires and cords. I hadn't the slightest clue what it was, yet he clasped his hands behind his back and gazed down at it with intense admiration…

This, he said quietly, is the Shikon, the central computer system in Geneva. It is designed to look perfect—what could be more perfect than an absolute sphere? This computer system actually holds the entirety of the human genome, and all the history of humanity that there could be found. There is new information added every day—it's a sight to see, Kikyou-chan.

I looked up sharply. He fell quiet, yet he didn't look away like he should've. He'd called me by my name specifically and deliberately. I couldn't tell if I liked it or not. My name on his tongue was as soft and sweet as a caress, as one of Kagome's hugs, as a summer breeze.

I must've watched him too long because all of a sudden he stepped forward, and tucked a finger under my chin. Forgive me, Kikyou-chan, he said again. His lips drifted ever closer, and I felt myself go weak. An intelligent, attractive man wanted me… I closed my eyes. I lifted my face.

Yes, I wanted it to happen. Don't look so furious—you can't pout, so don't try. And besides, there's absolutely nothing to fume about.

We were very close (any closer and we would have been on each other like rabbits) when the doorbell rang.

You didn't realize that's what you interrupted when you decided to crash the party? Oh, don't mouth 'serendipity' back to me. It was all your malevolent scheming, that's what it was.

Since he was the host, he had to go open the door and invite in his guests. The moment was over. I stayed in his study while he was gone, studying the Shikon computer system and pretending to be interested. You will be very glad to know that I _was _irked. Something nearly two dozen months in the making had been ruined by some inconsiderate brute who couldn't ring the doorbell _two seconds_ later.

After a couple minutes inside, I realized Suikotsu-san wasn't going to return. He had been held up speaking with his new visitors, and it would be unseemly to stay in his office, which was like his private sanctuary. Sighing, I exited the room and closed the door. When I made for the living room, however, who should come out of the shadows of the kitchen…

Inconsiderate brute.

I was at first very surprised you were there. Your pupils were dilated in the dark, wide and overwhelming your features. You literally stopped me in my tracks. But then again, I sort of _had_ to stop, considering you were standing in my way. So surprised was I that I did not notice this was the first time since that first night that you approached me of your own accord.

You were silhouetted in the doorway, like a monster blocking the light at the end of the tunnel. I felt cornered. What was I, a rat you were chasing? So I lifted my head proudly and took one step forward, toward you, toward the light.

You took one step back.

Reluctant to get near me, weren't you? As I advanced, you retreated. I was now the shining Dominant, you the Coward. What are you really afraid of, you demon? The weak girl who pretended she wasn't bewildered and frightened by you? Or your own response to that girl, your desire to grab her by the shoulders and make sure no one else lays a soiled, unworthy finger on her?

The dance, forward and back, ended when you were actually standing in the doorway. You completely blocked the exit, and you did not move anymore. Despite each approaching step I took, you stood firm. So I met your gaze, your eyes like flint, and asked Is there something you'd like?

You were the one who couldn't look at me. You averted your eyes because looking at me was somehow painful and uncomfortable to you, and when you spoke, it was gruff. Suikotsu is dangerous, you said.

You couldn't know how infuriated you made me with that statement. You did not know Suikotsu-san like I did, Suikotsu the kind-hearted, straight-laced researcher and philosopher. You had no business poking about in my situation, telling me what to do. You did not even know me, yet you thought to command me like I _belonged_ to you, like I could not make my own decisions and you had to make them for me. Who the _hell_ did you think you were?

I did something very rude then. I hope you'll forgive me for it, and forget. I reached out and pushed you out of the doorway. You did not expect my touch, and flinched away from it, automatically moving back. I slid past you and into the room of milling, murmuring guests. I found Suikotsu with a wine glass and a faraway look that vanished when I came to stand next to him.

I looked over my shoulder, back toward the door. You had already forgotten about me, you cyanide bastard. I saw you reach down and tuck a curl of Tanaka Kagura's hair behind her ear. And my whole world rang with protest, right down to the skin prickling on my neck. You slid your amber-flint-beautiful-hateful eyes at me, and there was nothing but contempt there. Nothing.

I told you I could read you. You are the same as me.

Only problem with that is that you can read me too. Because I am the same as you.

I narrowed my eyes. I thought he was gay, I muttered.

Who? Inumura Sesshoumaru? No, laughed Suikotsu-san. He dabbled a little a couple years ago. Not anymore. I don't know why he's here, though. We've never really been on the best of terms. He's too hard and too cruel for me to enjoy his company.

He caught my hand.

I slid it out and held it by my side, away from him.

Suikotsu-san noticed, and his smile dimmed.

So, you want to know if Tanaka-san made me jealous? Yes. At first. But when I found out you weren't homosexual, all I felt while I watched you with Kagura next to you, her soft body like the ocean all curving and rolling, was disgust.

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**Absent of Grace**_: It's my first Sess/Kik fic, not my first fiction ever, so I have a little experience, I'd say... :-D _

_**Crisscrossanime**: Actually, Sess/Kagura not really a pairing. They're not serious. You can kinda tell by the way Sesshoumaru is that he's not really serious about anyone. _

**xxxLOVEtheSINNER **_& _**Aliccia**_: Thanks for your support! _

**EngimaticArsenic**_: Oh, wow! You reviewed! I love your fic, Broken Things. That one is just great writing, completely believable and heartwrenching.  
_

_--I actually don't know how long this fic is going to be. I thought it would be pretty short when I started, but the way the characters are pulling me I really don't know. O.O Anyway, R+R._


	6. six: sex

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**STORM SONG**

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.part six.

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Nineteen, that's old enough to stay the night, said Suikotsu-san. He glanced toward his office door. I have a cot I can sleep on in there, and you can take the master bed.

Nineteen was old enough, yet I knew I was in no condition to stay over, least of all tonight. Alone with Suikotsu as midnight came and passed, we pondered over intellectual matters while sipping champagne and growing slowly and passionately drunk.

You'd left without so much as a nod in my direction, yet you were one of the last ones out the door, with that sweet, voluptuous Tanaka Kagura standing so close to you, she looked like an extra appendage. Were you waiting to see when I'd leave, too? For that reason alone, I'd stay with Suikotsu, to make you green-faced with disapproval and that other emotion you would not call jealousy.

I think, I said in a painful slur, I should go home. It'd be improper for me to stay.

Come, we are friends, stated Suikotsu. He sounded resigned—it was his last argument, because he _knew _I would not stay with him.

Yes, I said. And I must have been more inebriated than I knew. We are friends. Fine, I will sleep here. Nineteen was old enough. I took another sip of my champagne.

Frankly, I thought for sure I was sleeping with him tonight. I approached that thought with honest anticipation, because I was still a virgin and because I admired Suikotsu deeply and gently. He was a handsome man, with a strong, wide face and kind eyes. Eyes infinitely more expressive than yours, you hard flint. But he just gave me an overlarge shirt and a travel toothbrush, and then settled down in his small cot in his private office. I spent the night awake, wondering if he'd dare make a move.

He did not.

It was sunny the next morning. I sat at his white, clean counter and watched him prepare breakfast. I watched him in his slept-in bathrobe, his lips tugged up at the corners like there was some private joke I was not told… watched the sunlight beam through the cracks in the curtains, watched silently. I felt like a wife, being treated by my doting husband. He gave me every courtesy; he seemed at peace. I was at peace, too, I believe.

Was that happiness? No, but it was contentment. It was like dormancy. Happiness is an active emotion, a feeling that keeps you moving. Contentment was like a liquid: languid, still, cool. It was a little like indifference.

He drove me back to my house. We played jazz in his car, his white car, in the brilliant morning sun. He gave my fingers a squeeze before I got out, almost kissed them. I skipped up the steps toward the temple, and watched him drive away. After he left, I tried to sneak into the house.

Where were you? demanded Kagome.

We were worried sick! yelled Inuyasha.

Do you need a shower, because I can go heat the water for you, said my aunt, mild as ever.

I stayed the night at Suikotsu-san's home. He became too drunk last night to drive me, I told them. I'd love the bath, thank you.

Inuyasha's face grew dark, dark as a foreboding mountain in the distance. You stayed the _night_ at _Suikotsu_-san's? He was _drunk_? You fool! Baka!

Kagome, too, became solemn. Oh, no Kikyou. You couldn't have done that. You… you've lost your virtue.

What are you talking about? He didn't touch me, I remember. He slept in his cot the entire time, and I slept in the master bed.

You're delusional, Kikyou. You've always only seen things as you want to see them; open your eyes. No older man can keep his hands off a young, pretty student. I can guarantee you, even if you think you're untouched, you've lost it.

It is an effort keeping calm, Sesshoumaru. You know it too. I've always had to suppress my feelings and expressions into a mask of coldness; this time it proved especially difficult.

My aunt called down that the water had been heated. I sidestepped the two and disappeared into the bathroom. I closed the door on them and splashed my face with cool water. I could hear them both outside, speaking in disapproving tones. I wanted to open the door and tell them that my life was my own; they had no business dealing with it and approving and disapproving as they wished. Instead, I stripped and sank into the bath, soaking my skin in the heat.

All of a sudden I realized I was sore. Why was I sore? The water was doing wonders around my abdomen, my thighs. I didn't have any strenuous exercise yesterday, though.

Oh, god. I realized something and placed my hand on my legs. Oh, no.

I wanted to sink my head underneath the water and hold my breath. I wanted to cry. But I never cry; I couldn't cry. I had to hold it in. Inuyasha was right: I was delusional. I had tricked myself into thinking he'd stayed away from me. Suikotsu-san had not. He was too drunk to. I was too pliant. In the morning I'd automatically forgotten it had ever happened. That's why he was so happy in the morning, why he'd held my hand before I'd left. I'd slept with him and then purposely forgotten it'd happened.

I remembered it now. He was a dog in bed; growling, running, biting. Gentleness and kindness occurred outside of the bedroom; inside I was an object to be tossed and pawed at as he'd like. Yet he made me shiver and sweat; despite the demeaning condition he'd put me under, I had enjoyed it.

The mirror of the bathroom fogged up. Steam rose off of the water, like mist in the dark morning. I grabbed my shampoo bottle and held it, now faced with what exactly it was I had chosen to forget. I was stinging, falling, disbelieving; my expectations had been shredded into pieces too small to put together.

They were still discussing me outside, Kagome and Inuyasha. What did they know that I did not? What had they seen about Suikotsu-san that I'd glossed over when I'd met him?

And you, I thought about you, too. You'd told me he was dangerous. Now I can say with certainty: you were wrong. _He_ wasn't dangerous; I was dangerous. I was the one who had_ allowed_ myself to be used, who had permitted my dreams and ideals hide the truth, the reality I was not equipped to deal with. If you found out about what kind of a person I really was, would you still take an interest? Would you still give me a second glance? Even I was disgusted by myself, so why wouldn't you be? Why would you want to associate with such an imbecile?

I looked down at my reflection in the water, at my long hair flowing in circles around my mask of a face. What was I expecting? Why did I think I deserved better? At that point, Sesshoumaru, I truly was pathetic. If you'd known me right then, you would not bother to give me a second chance. But now I'm different--I've learned from my mistakes. I'm now someone you'd love, sweetheart, because I don't need you.

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_--Sorry for the long absence. It's the end of the school year, so I had parties and finals and everything. The last day of school is Tuesday. After that I should be free to churn out a couple more chapters before I have to go to my summer program. Thanks for the reviews, _**Azn kawaii kikyo the devil****, Cold Kikyo****, CrisscrossAnime****, Absent of Grace****, Sweet Ruby Moon**_, and _**EnigmaticArsenic**

**EnigmaticArsenic**_: Thanks for making it a fav! It's actually getting to be kinda melodramatic with this 'delusional' subplot. I wouldn't "lucky Kikyou" yet... they may be handsome and intelligent, but their motives are suspect. :D_

**Sweet Ruby Moon:**_ It is rather different from the rest of the Kikyou/Sess fanfics, isn't it? It's more metaphoric and it's in first-person. Anyway, I'll try to keep everyone entertained; read on!  
_

**Absent of Grace:**_ Bipolar? Well, let's just say he's not the same behind closed doors, eh? And it's ironic that right after you complimented my so-called supersonic updating skills, I don't update for two, three weeks. --;; So sorry. It'll come faster after this. _


	7. seven: the color white

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**STORM SONG**

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.part seven.

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Life cannot be viewed in black and white. An ill-fated philosophy, separating all into good and evil, light and darkness, ying and yang.

Yet time and time again I find myself falling into these traps. You would not deign to help me out. No one could, really. Such a realization is most powerful when it comes from yourself, rather than from anyone outside of you, because only with that self-consciousness can you change. I am not either omniscient or blind—I am somewhere in between. You are not either loving or aloof—paradoxically, you are both, and I am enchanted.

A week after my pseudo-breakdown in the bath, Kagome came by my room. She was curiously dressed in a formal green and white dress that extended to her ankles.

Kikyou, she said, knocking gently.

Tucked into an armchair, I pretended to be engrossed in my math textbook.

Hey, she said, a little annoyed. Pay attention.

I snapped the book shut and pursed my lips. Everyone, for the most part, had the sense not to bother me as I pondered the events of that night and what revelations I'd received while soaking myself. For seven days, I went through life more introspective than I'd been in a long time. Seven days without delusions. I think.

Inuyasha and I think you should get out more, she stated, standing by the door. There's a fete tonight, in a couple hours. It's formal wear, but there'll be entertainment you'll enjoy. You should come with us.

Alone?

You wouldn't be bored, Kikyou. You'd actually be intrigued; this is the kind of thing you go to in your spare time. Inuyasha has to go—he can't get out of it, so he invited me. And I'm inviting you.

Thanks, but I wouldn't accept a third-hand invitation.

Well, Kagome said, narrowing her eyes and putting her hands on her hips, it's not really an invitation. It's more of a command. You'll dress nice right now or I'll make you do it. I'm not afraid of you like other people, you know.

I merely blinked.

She stood there glaring at me (endearingly?) until I finally tucked my textbook into my shelf and rose. Then she grinned. Which dress? she inquired.

I'm not sure. Why don't you pick one out? I said, letting her step in front of my closet.

She hummed as she rustled through the clothes. From the doorway, Inuyasha looked in, curious. Then, when he saw we were around 'girl stuff,' he whirled around and went down the stairs as fast as he can. Poor boy must live here, considering how much he's around.

At last Kagome pulled out a white dress with red stripes at the hem. She had me slide into it, then she pulled my hair back into a low ponytail and told me to do my make-up in a very firm, mature voice. I sighed in relief when she left. Not that I don't like my cousin, but I find her meddlesome; she's always caring about other people and wanting to make them feel better. Though the thought is honorable, it's also tiring and infantilizes those around her by assuming they can't take care of themselves.

However, applying eyeliner in my mirror, I also realized that going out was not a bad idea. I was feeling rather starved of human interaction. This 'fete' would be good for me.

So I thought until I realized that I was waiting by the curb with Kagome for Inuyasha to pick us up. And Inuyasha drives a bright red motorcycle. How respectable would it be, two girls and a guy on one flaming bike? Though my expression was placid, I was chastising myself for not noticing it sooner.

Only thing was, Inuyasha didn't skid in on his motorcycle. No, instead, a sleek black Benz rolled in, with charming, rambunctious Inuyasha at the wheel. Get in, he said, chuckling. I borrowed my brother's car for the night.

What sort of party was this? I asked when I'd gotten into the backseat with Kagome.

I'm not so sure, Kagome replied. Inuyasha didn't really tell me.

It's a movie and reception, actually. You go, you watch the flick, you go to the drawing room and you eat those little snack things—

Hor d'oeuvres, interrupted Kagome

—yeah, those, Inuyasha continued. You eat them and you talk about how the movie was. You have to say it was 'radical' and 'unusual' though, because we all have to make Rin happy.

Rin? I asked

Yeah, Rin. The little director who makes these movies. My brother sponsors her, because he likes her work and he likes her, and in return for going to the show and seeing the movie and having a cultured party afterward, everyone must praise Rin. 'Course, I wouldn't do it unless her films were good, but they're generally passable.

Wait. Kagome, you didn't tell me this was Sesshoumaru-san's party.

I didn't think it'd matter. Why?

I closed my eyes. Leaned my head on the cool window. The car accelerated with a smooth growl, tarmac racing under the expensive wheels. I was sitting in an expensive car with expensive lights, going to a high-class art film showing, where I'd see _you_, unprepared and unbeautiful and unsure of myself. With a sinking feeling, I thought: what if Suikotsu-san would be there? I had avoided him all this week, not picking up the phone for fear it was him calling, taking the long route off of campus so I wouldn't pass his office….

I was actually more apprehensive of seeing him than of seeing you.

Would you like for me to describe to you the first impressions I had, seeing your beautiful, lavish, four-story manor, whiter than the moon, more pristine than a sakura blossom? I thought it was the biggest ego statement I'd ever had the shock of encountering. If I were obscene, I'd say you were making up for _shortcomings_ in other… areas. What an incredibly useless, decadent house.

We pulled up to the stairs that led into the front doors. A burly butler greeted us and led us through a series of corridors and up a flight of stairs before we found ourselves in a giant screening room. A wall-to-wall white screen with a movie projector was set up along one axis of the room. The lights were on, and those who were already here mingled before the rows of plush carnation-red seats.

Inuyasha immediately found the filmmaker, Rin, who was such a young girl. Barely fifteen, she appeared pretentious in mirrored sunglasses and a white beret. But when she beamed, her smile was genuine and bright as the sun on water. Almost too bright. Kagome started chatting with her almost instantly.

I turned around, intending to go to the concessions table and pour myself a bit of liquor before the movie began. I had a feeling I couldn't go through this evening without a little extraneous aid.

Oh, and like clockwork, there you were. By the curtains near the tall screen, speaking with an older man who was completely bald. Standing straight-backed, watching the man disdainfully down your narrow nose. Like the kingpin, or some other man who could afford to be extravagant, you were dressed from head to toe in white. You had a purple posy in your buttonhole and a silver chain at your wrist that flashed in the light.

Flashed like your eyes when you looked up without warning, looked directly at me.

Our gazes locked for a moment, then you turned your attention away from me, toward Rin. I took that as a sign that your interest was about as abundant a crop as a single shriveled weed.

Oh, you don't know how much you unsettled me. All in white, with hair silver-pale as snowdrops, you were a wraith, a spirit, an angel. You looked as if you could sprout wings and soar to heaven, tearing the skies with your rigid, amber glance.

An angel. Mine…

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_Thank you to _**Cold Kikyo, ****EnigmaticArsenic****, CrisscrossAnime****, Absent of Grace**_, and _**Lieberisse**_ for reviewing. The last chapter did not have any Sess/Kik interaction in it, which made it less exciting than the others. This chapterdoes, to an extent. The next chapter, I promise, will be full of 'chemistry' and repressed emotions. (Yummy...) I hope the last chapter wasn't too much of a curveball. I don't actually know quite how important her... selective memory is going to be to the plot--anyway, keep reading!  
_

_To almost everyone who reviewed: I updated as soon as I could! _


	8. eight: in the dark

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**Storm Song**

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.part eight. 

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I'll wager you've never felt like a wallflower in your life, have you? First son, overachiever—the only man in history with success flush in your veins. You couldn't lose anything, whether it be poker or a beauty competition. You've never felt rooted to the room itself, people's gazes passing you over as if you were just another potted plant, just another painted posy.

Yet, perversely, I was glad I could disappear so easily, overlooked. Would you like to guess why? Yes, because Suikotsu-san was present in the now-uncomfortably small viewing room. For every heiress who ignored the young girl in the corner, I could sink into the scenery more, and perhaps pass through this evening without mishap.

Yet, only you, a perfection so impervious to decay, could know what God thought in his humorous little musings, stroking his pale-silk whiskers and snorting with laughter. Or, call it karma. Just, whatever you do, don't call it serendipity.

He found me (of course he did, he wasn't blind, and I didn't try hard enough to dissolve from human sight). Kikyou-san, he said softly. I almost melted at his voice of warm mercury.

I've been trying to get into touch with you. Every time I call your house, though, whoever answers the phone hangs up on me.

I managed a shrug. He was a wider man than you, Sesshoumaru. Do you remember? Thick muscles built his shoulders and back, Suikotsu-san was potentially more powerful than you—sturdy where you were graceful, a chestnut oak to your snow-laden ash. He looked like he could pick me up and toss me across the room with hardly any effort. Standing so close to me, I noticed that which I didn't before—Suikotsu physically threatened, for all his intellectualism: a savant in a brute's body.

Are you alright, Kikyou-san? Have you been sick?

Suikotsu-san reached his hand out to lightly brush my hair. His touch, his look, his voice, it was all so gentle, so unlike whatever I remembered from that night.

Did I in essence remember anything at all? Perhaps that revelation was one of those false revelations you hear so much about in modern psychology—a memory constructed by the subconscious to explain away an incomprehensible phenomenon.

Wait, let me give you a kiss, here on the corner of your mouth. Why do you look so puzzled? It's for saving me, that one time, because I don't know what I would have said to Suikotsu-san right then. I was so full of self-doubt…

When you approached, the movement attracted my attention. And suddenly, fast enough that I couldn't see you moving, you were by us, and you gave Suikotsu-san your patented, frostbitten glare. You expression, pinched in displeasure, frightened even me, for a moment.

My dear man, you said, sounding like you were about to rip his throat out, As much as this may surprise you, I did not invite you so that you could press your affections on fellow guests. You're here in a professional standing, only. Step away from Miss Higurashi.

You had no right interfering in my business. I could defend myself perfectly well! – These were the arguments I formed in my head to throw against you like darts, even as I sighed in relief. Now, I can, in full possession of my senses, thank you. But right then, I was full of Western concepts of women's liberation and fair standing between the genders that I would have, if I could gather the breath to speak, cut you to shreds with words alone. Sometimes, a young woman needs rescue.

Trust me: only _sometimes_.

I'm not sure what right you have over me, Sesshoumaru, said Suikotsu-san. I'm here out of obligation to you, as my schoolmate and acquaintance.—I had never heard my mentor and friend sound so cold and bitter before.—And I'm positive you have no right separating me and the woman I love.

This last statement drove a spike through my heart, dividing it two ways. In the first, I was drained of all my fear of Suikotsu-san, and I felt sure he was the only man I could ever give myself to. To say he loved me—to love me where I didn't think anyone else really did… I had never had anyone give me that. Yet, for all my appreciation of him, shock and discomfort also registered themselves. My intuition told me to stay away from him—a man who would fall in love without first considering all the dangers, without weighing his mind against his heart, a man who let emotions control him… that was a man I had to be alarmed about. I, for one, could never love if I had not dwelled on a relationship for quite some time.

The woman you love. You spoke it as a statement of incredulity. You love this _girl_?

Suddenly, you pried him away from me, your elegant hand on his shoulder, your polished nails digging into his skin.

Come with me, now. Your voice is a thunderous hiss, a murderous request.

I still heard you, you know. You took Suikotsu-san to a place right next to the door to the projector room and you tried to be as quiet and menacing as you could, and I know others did not pay any attention and therefore did not hear, but I did.

You leaned down and looked him in the eye. Your frightening eyes like chips of yellow diamond—unbreakable, unflappable. Don't ever let me see you near Higurashi Kikyou again. She is _not_ and will _never_ be the woman you love.

What is she to you? He asked back, taking your wrist and pulling it off of his shoulder. He looked you full in the face, unfrightened.

Nothing. Only, her happiness is paramount to her sister's happiness is paramount to my brother's.

Liar. You hate your brother.

You only gave him another glower, like the dry windstorm before the conflagration. This time, he had to shrink back. But not by much, nor far.

Only here, only now, he said back to you. Outside of this house, you have no control over me.

Before you could answer with your voice of repressed violence, he spun and left. He almost came by where I stood, unmoving, but he thought better of it and turned away.

You returned to where I stood, my face pallid against the harsh studio light. Probably to lecture me, you old man in white. Didn't anyone ever tell you that wearing white at your age is tacky? Before you could open your mouth, with your hard-looking lips and your voice as dark and smooth as river stones, the theater dimmed.

It was the beginning of the movie; a butler closed the doors of the mini-cinema and we were forced to take our seats. You were not used to being cut off; you bit your words and hushed yourself. There were only two seats that we could possibly take; they were right next to each other, on the far left side of seating area. You smouldered like a structure of embers piled into the shape of man—that was how your annoyance at being stuck with the teenager you wanted to avoid manifested itself.

The socialites around us turned and gave you assessing stares. You usually sat in the back, watching right next to the projector, with Rin by your side. To be here, with this young girl… oh, what could it possibly mean? All of the artificially beautiful women flickered their attention over to me. I have to admit, Sesshoumaru, I sweated under their dismissing, ridiculing gazes.

The movie was unexpectedly good for a fifteen-year-old director. You, of course, provided all the equipment needed and manpower required to your favorite dependent. Still, it seemed to lack a specific direction—it was merely a reflection of thoughts scrapped together into an almost coherent plot, like a wildflower salad. Yet, don't listen to my criticisms seriously: I did not pay as much attention as I should have. I was too busy being torn on whether or not to 'inadvertently' touch you. That is what happens in movie theaters, is it not? Even if it is your own private viewing room.

I could've absently eased my hand onto the armrest, only to find yours there also. I could've shifted my legs and found one touching yours. But sensibility told me I must do no such thing; so I did not. I focused all my attention on not appearing interested in you at all; I did not so much as look at you during the entire movie. You didn't notice, did you? You were doing the exact same thing.

But all the concentrating on not thinking about you made me grossly and painfully aware of you next to me. The swish of the fabric of your clothing inflamed my cheeks. The brush of your essence-of-silk hair against the bare skin at my ear gave me impure thoughts of the most hedonistic class. And when you occasionally licked your lips to dry them… I could _hear_ you, and automatically my pulse quickened.

Just when I finally persuaded myself to register interest in the film, just as the main character finally reaches an epiphany, the screen flickered off.

Immediately the entire room tensed. The anxiety escalated to a point where I could hear it buzzing in my ear, though no one spoke.

The door to the room burst open; a man appeared carrying a torch lamp.

Ladies and gentlemen, the butler said in the most calming, gentile manner possible, I'm afraid that a typhoon has moved in over the past few hours. Although we were expecting the power to stay on, the rain has shorted out our generator. The help is gathering up flashlights. We recommend that all of you remain seated for the moment.

You rose to your feet. In the night-deep darkness, your expression was even more inscrutable, but from your proximity I felt that every muscle in your body was taut with agitation. You made his way down to the butler with the light and held a hushed, furious discussion with him. The guests of the house were stirring as you two conversed. A loud man behind me, a politician of some sort, regretted that he'd come at all. His woman shushed him.

You know, if I were in Naraku's manor, this would not have happened, one particularly testy woman to my right complained.

You know, even if Naraku ever invited people over, he would never invite _you_, replied her companion tartly.

Eventually, several servants filed in and lined up at the sides of the dual stairs, holding flashlights.

My guests! You began as the last maid stepped into place.

—Unfortunately, the movie showing must be brought to a halt. Also, the gathering afterward must be canceled, as our catering has failed to arrive. I am deeply sorry for the misfortune and the trouble you all have gone to in order to come out here. I'm afraid conditions outside are terrible to travel in. There are many unoccupied rooms in this house; you may stay in one if you'd like. Our maids will provide everything. Of course, all your cars are parked under awnings, and should be relatively untouched in the morning. Should you decide to go now, no one would stop you: only, be careful on the road, as a security warning has already gone out….

After you finished, many rose to take their leave, including the politician you heard and the two women who had sat close to me. Some apologized for not being able to take you up on your hospitality, but they must absolutely be back home for work in the morning. Some just walked out the door without a nod in your direction. I saw Suikotsu-san walk out like so, head held high—I felt so sorry. I wanted to apologize to him.

At last, there were only a baker's dozen left. I was one of them.

In pairs and trios, the stragglers requested rooms and were led away by the butler, who seemed to know exactly where to go. I remained seated. Kagome came down the stairs. Kikyou, she said softly, sliding in the seat that you were sitting in just a handful of minutes before. Inuyasha is going to talk to Sesshoumaru-san now, to tell him we are leaving too.

I nodded.

Are you alright? You seem more silent then usual.

Just the film, I replied. I'd wanted to see the end.

Bullshit. We turned; there was the infamous Jaken, glaring down at us. Liar, he said.

Jaken unsettled me; he was a young man with wide, perpetually staring eyes. He'd a disturbing habit of putting on contacts to make his pupils slits, like cat-eyes, like snake-eyes. He was a man of questionable style, with a head of green hair as sleek as oil, and a jutting, beak-like mouth. I had the feeling he disliked me intensely.

Yo, frogbait!

Inuyasha came sauntering, looking for trouble, as usual. Try not to show too much of your ugly face around my girlfriend, all right?

Which one's she? the demonic factotum smirked. The repressed bitch or the girly slut?

Kagome snapped. What?

What did you call her? Inuyasha loomed over the short little man, pulling back his fist.

Brother! You were smouldering again. Do not attack those who work for me.

Well, _Brother_, drawled Inuyasha, who flicked the finger at Jaken instead, I wouldn't have to if he'd just keep his dirty mouth closed.

Nonetheless, control your temper, my _dear_ younger sibling, you seethed.

I don't have to. I'm leaving. Kagome and Kikyou are coming with me.

And _how _are you doing that? demanded Jaken. You're not taking the car.

Why? Because you said so? Last I heard, you weren't in the family. _I _am.

You irresponsible twit! squeaked Jaken, curling his fists.

You ugly toad-shit, growled Inuyasha.

You—

Stop it, Jaken. Inuyasha, you are not taking the car. This is your father's house, after all. You must sleep in it. Go. Go to bed. Sesshoumaru passed his glance over Kagome and I. The sisters will share a room.

But, Sesshoumaru-sama…. Jaken started.

Come with me Jaken, You replied. I must speak with you.

I had to wonder why.

Yes, sir.

Jaken sent us a glare as he left the room that left no doubt to any of us he saw us unfit for the house. You did not appear to notice, but I saw your fingers flexing as you exited. You did not pay us attention, as if we were below you, which I guess we were.

There was now no one left in the room except for Inuyasha, Kagome, and me. Oh, and Rin, who came from the very back of the room with a flashlight she'd found. She studied me strangely, unsmilingly. Come, she said. Sesshoumaru-sama would want you situated for the night. She smiled toothily at Kagome and Inuyasha.

I was the last one out of the room. The walls of the house were lit with torches, as if we'd suddenly reverted to feudal times. I followed Inuyasha's retreating back as we ascended a long flight of stairs. Inuyasha received what appeared to be his usual room; it had his sloppy, careless air. Posters were slapped onto the walls, a wide television in the corner, and the curtains, though beautiful at one point, were frayed and lightened to the point of shabbiness. There was one single photo of Inuyasha with his mother, taken at some point in his childhood. It was on his dresser, and dust blanketed the frame.

Rin coaxed Kagome out of the room, and together we went down the corridor again. Rin, who was supposed to be a happy, chatty person, according to what my cousin had told me, was uncharacteristically silent.

Here is your room. There are twin beds that the maids have just made over. There are also candles and matches. If you need anything, just ask. There is a servant at every first room in every corridor. Good night, Kagome-san.

She neglected to say anything to me.

Outside I could hear the rain, the deafening pattern of pitter-patter against the windows. This was actually rain you could drown in. I tugged open the shades and stared outside at the night landscape; the hiss of the weather drew me.

It reminded me subconsciously of the first evening we met, of the rain then. It wasn't nearly so harsh as now, being almost a precursor to this storm. Sesshoumaru, we are like the rain. Speaking but silent, knowing but ignorant… we hide too well behind the dark, heavy clouds.

And when the floodgates loosen, we release a fury and a cascade of emotion that no natural structure can stand against. We are inherently dangerous.

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_Thank you to _**Kikyou741****Azn kawaii kikyo the devil****Absent of Grace****CrisscrossAnime****Cold Kikyo**_, and _**EnigmaticArsenic **_for reviewing. I know it has been two months since my update. I'm so incredibly sorry! I had an arduous summer course to take that lasted a month long, and then the rest of the time has been filled up with saying goodbye to friends who are leaving for college and preparing for classes next year. I've been working on the chapter in spurts throughout that time—the problem is that I'm most productive in this story in the late hours of the night, especially if it's raining. It hasn't really rained in a long time, and therefore inspiration has been lacking. Oh, and I'm guessing by the character's interactions that the protagonists' kiss (which I'm longing for fervently) will come very soon. Cross your fingers! _


	9. nine: reverberation

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**STORM SONG**

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.part nine.

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Kikyou?

I turned. Kagome stood by a tall armoire, watching me. She was always too curious.

Kikyou, are you alright?

I'm fine, I manage to smile. It seemed to satisfy my compassionate cousin, who had learned through experience that she could not pressure me into speaking of a subject I wished to avoid. I came away from the window as she opened the doors of the dresser and rooted through.

There are cute pajamas here! she exclaimed, pulling out an orange pair. We don't have to sleep in our clothes, what a plus!

Yeah. Great.

Kagome laughed at my obvious enthusiasm and threw a white pair at me. Composed of a single silk shirt and silk drawstring pants, they looked comfortable and expensive.

Might as well take advantage of the luxury, huh? Kagome grinned as she headed to a corner to change. I shrugged. Before I even came close to the thought of sliding out of my dress, someone rapped at the door. Taking a tall tapered candle, I cracked open the door to the room. Inuyasha was standing out there, scratching behind his ear.

Hi Kikyou, he whispered, afraid to wake up any neighbors we might have. Can I come in?

Kagome's changing, I replied with my eyebrow cocked.

You and I both know that's not a problem, he replied. I scoffed affirmatively and allowed him to pass. Before I had the door latched, I heard Kagome shriek.

_Inuyasha_! Kikyou, why did you let him in?

I returned to find Kagome standing with her shirt held demurely by her clenched fist in front of her. Inuyasha had the strangest of gleams in his eye. I should've known what was coming.

Kikyou, Inuyasha purred without diverting his gaze away from Kagome's blushing face, why don't you go stay in my room tonight? You know where it is.

NO! Kikyou, stay with me, Kagome insisted. We don't talk enough as it is.

Inuyasha leaned forward lithely and murmured something soft and heated into Kagome's ear. Kagome liquefied. Inuyasha raised his eyebrows and asked me expectantly, Well?

Kagome's eyes spoke: Sorry, but….

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Whatever the lovebirds wanted to do was fine with me.

Yeah. I'll go.

Great. Here's the key.

Inuyasha threw something small and gold toward me. I caught it and, seeing Kagome affectionately peck him on the cheek, decided it would be against my better judgment not to scurry off like they so wanted me to.

The corridor was long and chill, blue with shadows and cold along my bare feet. I had left my heels in the other room, as they cramped my feet to wear, and I knew Inuyasha was probably tripping over them right now trying to hug Kagome. I sighed; as long as the stilettos weren't broken in the morning, I would be fine. They were, after all, my only pair of high heels.

Inuyasha's room had that musty, antique feeling that old, sepia photos sometimes emote. Walking into it was like walking into a badly preserved past. Rebellion, best friend of kerosene, soaked the walls. No wonder Inuyasha didn't want to stay here—even I could feel the bad memories present in this room. I had heard of Inuyasha's childhood from Kagome—of his parents that were so enthralled with each other they made no time for their child; of you, his half-brother Sesshoumaru who either ignored him or snarled at him; of his exclusion from high society—indeed, from _any_ society—due to his bastard birth.

Naturally, he needed Kagome right here, right now.

The rain still came teeming, knocking, and needling. I slept to that infinite melody, curled up on my side, my borrowed nightclothes forgotten. I was too tired; this evening had been markedly eventful. I wanted—I dreamed of—return to my life before I had met you, when Suikotsu-san was still my teacher and the only pressure in my life came from midterms. Serenity: that was what I missed.

I woke a couple hours later, blinking open my eyes. In the soft, dark glow from the blinds that lay wide open, I saw you. You towered over me, looking down your nose at this little figure on your brother's bed. I could not tell how long you had been there, but I had a feeling you 'd watched me for quite some time. Your lips were set in an angry grimace. Your eyes swallowed me.

My stomach gelled together in a decidedly unattractive and uncomfortable fashion.

What the _hell_, you asked in a stony tone, are you doing in my brother's bed?

I _was_ sleeping, I retorted, until _you_ woke me up.

Where the hell is he?

Where do you think he is?

You closed your eyes and rubbed at your temple. Then you made to storm off.

Don't.

I couldn't believe I said that. In the moment after it came out of my mouth, I struggled with myself for intruding, for violating a guest's respect for her host. But my compassion for Inuyasha, my knowledge that he _needed_ to spend this time with Kagome, convinced me to go on.

What did you say? you asked incredulously.

Don't go to them. You don't know what they could be doing.

My mind worked furiously. I knew suddenly what would deter you.

You don't want to see them in _that_ state, do you?

You considered this. You glowered. Your attire was dyed cobalt in the dim room—you reminded me of smutty horror stories and badly written romance novels. Ha! As if you could ever consent to be my Casanova.

It doesn't matter, you barked. I'm going anyway.

I slid off the bed and crossed my arms. No, I don't permit you to.

Yes, I was shocked too. Normally, I would never ever issue commands, least of all to my social superiors. Yet, you must understand that I did not feel as if you deserved my respect—not after you resolutely pretended I didn't exist and then still found it no problem to interfere with my business.

In disbelief, you countered, I will go, _Miss Higurashi_, if I want to; how can you stop me? This is _my house_.

Oh, you infuriating male, I had thought then. How is it possible that I both wish to slap you and to kiss you?

Your brother deserves his happiness, I told you darkly. Why would you wish to speak to him, anyway, but to criticize him?

Your molten eyes widened. You bristled.

You. Impossible. Woman.

A surge of adrenaline battered into me, energizing and motivating. Repressed frustration, pent up from enduring the politics of polite society, found an outlet in this boldness.

Oh, _I'm _impossible? Do you realize that this is the most you've spoken to me ever since that first time we met? After finding out who I was, you either avoided me or you bullied others into avoiding me. So you don't wish to acquaint yourself with me. Fine: then stay out of my _life_.

You're the one that keeps barging into mine! you contradicted. The campus, the dinner, and now _this_!

At least I don't meddle about in your problems.

What do you think you're doing right now, Higurashi? You're _telling_ me n—

That's when you realized. I saw it in the muscles of your face, felt it in your aura, when your knitted brow grew slack and your pupils, dilated from the dark and from agitation, shrunk. And then I knew too. We were standing so close to each other, that if I leaned up, I could kiss you. Violence, from the heat that we inadvertently generated, mushroomed in that desperately small space between us.

I knew that if you said anything then, if you lifted your hand, if you touched me in the slightest bit, I would have lost my sense of self. I would have crushed all the blockades between us within the flutter of a butterfly's wings. I would have kissed you.

Perhaps you knew it too.

You leapt away. Well-bred as you were, you did not forget to drop a 'good night' before you fled, even if it was halted and awkward. I heard the click of your shoes as you departed, a rapid click-clack against the bare marble floor. As it tapered off, I choked down a heavy pill of disappointment, hugging my arms to my sides. Then, before I changed into my garments, I grabbed the key from the table I had left it on.

I locked the door.

( - )

_This chapter has been written since two days after my last update. However, the birth of my new baby sister has prevented me from editing. Soon, I'll have to go to school (T.T)… Aww…. Anyway, thanks to_**CrisscrossAnime**, **Cold Kikyo**, **Lieberesse**, **EnigmaticArsenic**, **Azn kawaii kikyo the devil**, **moodygal**, _and _**de aequitate** _for reviewing. I'm so glad this little story "lights up your heart" and incites your "LOVE"!_

**de aequitate**_: Thank you for your compliments. About the style—actually, I don't normally write sans quotations. I had been reading _House on Mango Street _when I started _Storm Song_ and the writer's style automatically influenced my own. She has metaphoric vignettes in first person, no quotations, and when I wrote, I accidentally picked up on this approach. I figured after the first reading that I liked it better that way. As bothersome as it is to have to reread the dialogue to pick up on where narration left off and where speech began, I feel as if putting in quotations takes away from Kikyou's voice, and that's what I want to emphasize. I hope the lack of quotations doesn't confuse you too much. _:D


	10. ten: the little things

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**STORM SONG**

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.part ten.

The morning smelled moist and raw and pungent, like the crumbled earth had been turned over and its essence now mingled with the air. Uncharacteristically, I slept past the sunrise, and was woken by Kagome's knocking. She had brought me my shoes and a cup of coffee she'd pilfered from the kitchens.

We need to go now, she said. Sesshoumaru-san is in a bad mood.

I grimaced.

I changed into my rumpled clothing from last night and followed Kagome out. She seemed ill at ease in the large building. Kagome was always a cozy sort of person. Mansions aren't _her thing._

As we stopped at the bottom of the stairs, for Kagome to adjust her shoe straps, I heard a fragment of speech through an open door, made by Rin in her voice of chimes and chirps.

—_a point, you know. If you'd be more courteous toward her_—

I saw a flash of brilliant hair, white as angel wings, as the door to your den closed.

We left without breakfast, though there were a few stragglers still taking advantage of the Inumura hospitality. Inuyasha drove as if the speed limit were a figment of the imagination. Kagome yelled at him to slow down, he yelled back at her to shut up, and I only leaned my head against the window, trying not to remember last night.

I wasn't in love with you.

And Rin, she couldn't possibly be speaking to you.

A fortnight after the brief and unpleasant stay at your gaudy self-monument of a house, I found myself ensconced daily at libraries, conducting research. Desire, I'd decided, proved detrimental to all areas of healthy living. Thus resolute, I spent my time in the most non-personal, efficient way possible: gathering and sorting data. I was not about to allow my concentration to waver in my work any more than it had already; particularly, I would no be outdone by Kurosawa Tsubaki, who would gloat any triumph in classwork over me.

Typhoon season had not quite ended. One Thursday night, I realized nearing night o'clock that I must leave soon, before the rain that threatened in every swell of those slate, laden clouds began their tumbling fall.

The library I left from was in the Public Records Department of the financial district, and the bus stop was further than I'd supposed, since I didn't usually find myself among the affluent business community. As I walked, the night grew heavy and ripe, the air swollen with intent. I did not look forward to being drenched again. The winds, which had died down before the time I'd left the building, started whipping, rolling, and howling again.

—But you know all of that, because you were there too.

I saw you first, striding in the meandering crowd with a hassled aura. Your tie (why hexagonal flowers? In red?) was loosened to the brink of slovenliness. Our last encounter was less than peaceful, and a replicate did not appeal. I wanted to run. I stood stock-still.

Your eyes were absently scanning the crowd. When you saw me, however, you stopped and gawked. In that constantly undulating sea of pedestrians, only we had come to a stop, still as stone—like lighthouses built too close. We caught the beams from each other's gazes, and the darkness seemed to fracture with reflection, refraction.

In your face, in the one that had that most bland and stoic expression possible, I caught the twitch of your eyebrow. You were annoyed.

You're lost – a statement made in that endearingly rude way of yours.

No, I'm heading home.

Do you wonder, even now, why we have such rapport? It isn't because we're _right_, like Inuyasha and Kagome, or we're so deeply in love… like your stepmother, Izayoi and your father. No, it's because we're _wrong_, wrong for that interdependent spiral of life, that network and of friends and lovers. Life is about empathy and connections, but I love you because of disconnect. We're both disconnected, because we don't comprehend the others. We stand, both of us, outside of life's cabins of camaraderie, looking in. And finding another lost one is an aphrodisiac—at last someone who _knows_.

You regarded me, almost appraisingly. The corners of your lips tugged downward. Then, contrary to all of those bitter, knife-edged words we'd vaulted at each other the last time we'd met, you came by my side. For a moment I thought you were going to grab me, to some way take a hold of me, but you only stepped beyond me into the street, where dirty gutter water began to sully your shoes. You hailed a cab, and pushed me in.

I seem to recall you giving money to the driver, and calling up my address. How _did _you know my address? Oh, right, Inuyasha. I was silent as I rode home. I was silent when I entered the house. I was silent as Kagome recruited me for a family card game. Amidst the laughter and the cheering, I thought. I wondered about your act of generosity, wondered what it meant. I kept arriving at the obviously erroneous conclusion it was because you _wished_ to be kind and courteous to me. As I laid down my jack of hearts, I spotted Inuyasha reluctantly apologizing to Souta.

Comprehension dawned—you were making up for the discourtesy you'd treated me with that night. It wasn't that you wanted to, but that your sense of honor and dignity forced you to.

I sighed, tucked a strand of hair behind my ears. I knew your motives. I know you. And at that moment, I wished to God I didn't.

( - )

_Thanks to_** CrisscrossAnime**, **Cold Kikyo**, **EnigmaticArsenic**, **Azn kawaii kikyo the devil**, **Lieberesse**, _and _**roxworld**_ for reviewing. _

**roxworld** : _thank you, I try my best to make everyone as in character as possible…(Except Rin, because she plays a role that someone I know in real life is exactly the same way.) _

_This is a short read. I had so much trouble deciding what this chapter should be about. I considered having Rin join one of Kikyou's classes early, and considered having her meet with Suikotsu, but I believe that this little move that Sesshoumaru made is pivotal to the story. The demon prince is loosening up… IRL (in real life), classes start on Monday, and I will be hard pressed to work. I'll try to get another chapter up soon, but I can't promise anything. (-checks date-) Wow, it's been almost a month since my last update. Damn. _

_My little philosophical rant about "disconnect." That actually is one of my strongest reasons for the Sesshoumaru x Kikyou pairing. They both have no equals. They have people they care about, but no one to respect and share success with. With Inuyasha, he has Kagome, Miroku, and Sango. (And I don't really care whether Naraku has equals or not…. -sweatdrop-) Sesshoumaru and Kikyou, whenever they see each other in the anime/movies, has a grudging respect for each other, and that makes them a great pair. _


	11. eleven: the girl with the cold heart

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**STORM SONG  
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_.part eleven._

No matter how unkind it may be to him, or how painful it would be to me, I knew the matter between Suikotsu-san and myself demanded resolution. As much as confrontation itself must be avoided, I couldn't go about my day-to-day business avoiding him. With the desire to put an end to all our relations, platonic or otherwise, I approached his office one evening after classes.

He sat at his desk, his room dark but for the one desklamp illuminating his table. His hair, typically so impeccably gelled, now looked unkempt and disheveled. He kept patting it down and running his hand through it as he studied his papers. Loathe to interrupt him, I stood silent in the doorway.

He sensed me. His attention flickered between the document and the figure standing in the doorway. When he recognized me after a couple glances, he paused.

Kikyou… I mean, Higurashi.

Suikotsu-san.

I paused. There was no running away now.

I need to talk to you.

A moment hung between us of palpable tension, even fear. Then he stood. Let me get my coat, he said.

He took me down to a high-class teahouse, and bought an hour in one of the private dining rooms. He smiled and sipped the drinks and nibbled the refreshments. His attempts at conversations agitated and his talk wavered and fluctuated as I remained silent and unresponsive—at last, he covered my hand with his own.

What is it, Kikyou-chan? Come out with it already.

A tumor, a sense of malaise, a knot tightened in my abdomen. Once again, I pulled away my hand. And I said, I'm afraid, Suikotsu-san, of a relationship. I'm afraid of…

_Of you, _I thought

…committing myself. I don't feel toward you that same feeling you have toward me, but I'm always bothered by it. I'm always bothered by the knowledge in the back of my head, because you are my teacher and my friend, and I cannot deny your affections without...

Kikyou—

His voice was a groan, an inarticulate whisper. I could hear in that single word a thousand choked pleas.

Kikyou, don't do this. Don't say things like that. I thought we… I thought we were…. That night. Kikyou, oh, my god.

Sesshoumaru, have you ever seen a man's heart break? It is a sight both tender and anguished. A man's tears—they aren't romantic, I realized. They're the tears of little boys whose dreams are cracked and smashed.

I sat, straight-backed and solemn, as he cried. I sat like a brutal bitch—because I felt only pity, not compassion. A sense of distaste kept me from comforting him; I permitted his unmentionable weakness to run itself until empty, understanding it was not the job of the abuser to give him consolation. In the bright, harsh light of that dining room, I watched him cry.


	12. twelve: beauty is pained

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**STORM SONG**

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.part twelve.

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I leaned against a streetlamp, my attention wandering like the moths that circulated the light's yellow bulb. Somehow, evening had drawn on into night; I couldn't remember leaving the restaurant, or arriving at this street, or even coming to stand in the lamp's viscous, half-hearted glow.

My feet ached; my legs felt like withered branches that knocked into each other in the rattling wind. The draft skirmished with my winter coat, tangling, knotting, biting.

My skin seemed as aged and jaundiced in the glow. Something smoothly thorny prickled at the side of my eye.

Pale hair glistened in the blue-black night—moon-bright ice, snow by starlight. A familiar rhythm of walk, followed by a familiar face, interrupted the silence, intruded on the solitude.

Kikyou?

Inuyasha stopped, taken back. Then he launched himself over toward me, sprinting across the street. Kikyou, are you alright?

I'm a little distracted, but I'm ok, Inuyasha, I said to him. His sudden approach had brought on a headache. I backed away.

OK? What are you talking about, OK?

He grabbed me roughly by the arm; I flinched as if he had touched an old wound. He stopped, staring at me, and then down at my clothes. A wave of heat flashed across my face. His amber eyes, I noticed, had long dark lashes—weren't your lashes unnaturally pale? Sesshoumaru, you should know—I wished so much he was you, then, that bitter night.

Suddenly, he was gentle. His voice became subdued, his fingers light. Let me look at it, Kikyou, he said quietly. I frowned. Look at what? He gently maneuvered my arm up and folded back my sleeve. A shadow-hued bruise blossomed on my yellowed skin, an eerie and disjointed mix of colors under the streetlamp. I wondered how I got it.

What happened, Kikyou? Was it Suikotsu?

I blinked. I swallowed.

No, no, he was crying. He cried. Inuyasha, I made a man cry.

—Sesshoumaru, your brother's expression held such pity. I couldn't look at it.

He took me by the shoulders tenderly, pulling me out of the cold, sickly reach of the lamp and toward a car. In its glossy black reflection, I saw a ravaged face—a cut lip, a blackening eye, a livid welt across my temple.

_God_, I uttered. In that single word, I could hear multitude inflections of pain. It wasn't enough. _God._

We need to get you to a hospital, Inuyasha told me. Can you walk?

I could—though my soles ached, my ears roared, and my eyes prickled like mad. His hand gingerly around my waist, supporting me, he walked me toward his parked motorcycle.

_Inuyasha_, I thought as he motored down toward the inner city, toward the hospital, _Inuyasha, I'm only your girlfriend's sister. Why are you so kind to me? _He cut a corner; I buried my face in his back so that the wind would not sting my face. I smelled his pale hair—it was like sandalwood—and I wondered if you smelled like that, too. Sitting there, leaning into his back, pressed against his warmth… I was envious. This is what Kagome saw, then, in her Inuyasha: someone she could lean on, someone who cut corners and chased away darkness for her. He was a good boy, a compassionate boy, though he affected hypermasculinity.

I didn't want to let go by the time we'd arrived. When I pried myself away from him and staggered my way into the emergency room, I realized I didn't want to deal with him any longer. I knew I should thank him, I knew I should show that gratitude I felt, but I also knew that if I saw him, really looked at him, again, I'd cry.

He stood by as the doctors treated me; when they told him I'd be fine in a couple of days with some rest, he stepped forward toward me hesitantly. Automatically I turned my face.

I heard him pause, felt his stare; I listened to the jingle of his car keys as he turned and walked out of the hospital room. I saw him through the blinds at the payphone. I knew he was speaking to Kagome.

Sesshoumaru—do you do this, too? Do you push away those who are kind to you, those who want nothing but the best for you? I never knew my parents—no one had ever been undemanding of me, no one had ever held my hand through anything. So when it happens for the first time, how can I know how to react? And toward my sister's boyfriend... your brother.

Sesshoumaru, let me say it again—

Even if you would not have treated me like Inuyasha, kindly, considerately; even if your concern was only momentary; even if I would have to have found my way home alone, like I seem to always be… _God, _I wish it had been you who found me.

( - )

_Thanks to_** CrisscrossAnime**, **Cold Kikyo **(2), **EnigmaticArsenic **(2), **Azn kawaii kikyo the devil **(2), **Lieberesse** (2), **FireyFlames**, **godisawsome**, **Mannequin**, **Meilin Li** _and _**smolderingcoal**_ for reviewing._

This chapter was rather abrupt in its treatment of violence (what happened at dinner will be revealed next chapter). It was also rather abrupt in length, but I guess that can't be helped. (Finals are next week, after that I should have some time for more updates.) About last chapter--_Mannequin_, I actually didn't think that the way Kikyou "dumped" him made her seem like a bitch; it's just the way I picture Kikyou handling it--she does things for the best despite any emotional objection she might have. She's primarily logical and morally upright, though her emotions are hugely powerful; a bitch, on the other hand, either does things because they hurt people, or have little to no regard to their emotions. _EnigmaticArsenic_ mentioned how this way of dealing can be better than "dragging it out to its inevitable end"; I think that's a Kagome thing to do, actually, because Kagome wouldn't be able to make up her mind and actually go through with something that would hurt someone else.


	13. thirteen: transition

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**STORM SONG**

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_.part thirteen._

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Calm down, unclench your fists; I can't talk to you when you're like this. He hurt me, yes, but it was less his fault then you'd think. Men don't know their own strength, not when faced with someone like me, someone that affects invulnerability. I'm not at all disposed to treat him kindly—I don't have a wide and brimming heart—but let bygones be bygones. Close your hand over mine, and listen.

The walls of the check-up room were seafoam green; I remember staring at them as the police officer on duty noted my account of the act. I couldn't remember it at first—and even now my recollection is at best hazy. But there were a few instants that I found, with a little cautious searching. They'd been seared into my mind: the ear-ringing slap, the heartless grip, the bitingly cold night. Closing her notebook, the cop observed me with pity. She gestured for my family to come with her outside the door, as if I was still too fragile to listen. I could hear them speaking through the half-closed door. Inuyasha stayed with me, because he's not family. He leaned next to the slightly-ajar door and registered every word.

She told them, It seems that the most serious injury was self-inflicted, and the man's strike was superficial. I've known many worse cases—though the psychological impact doesn't seem as strong. Unfortunately, it is not the police practice to make an arrest for so mild a charge.

So mild—Kagome started indignantly. My aunt silenced her with a look.

We see. Thank you, she said, bowing slightly to the officer.

I recommend you take precautions to keep the girl from seeing that man again. I will write a report, so that the next time something happens with him again, we will have precedent and will take him in. In the meantime, just let the girl heal, ma'am. The cop nodded at my family and walked away, the drone of her clicking boots fading away.

I could see Kagome's fists curling through the doorway, her eyebrows furrowing. She ran after the policewoman. I sighed. It was a useless gesture, though well-intentioned, because what the woman had said was true. What happened to me was minor. Men struck their girlfriends everyday; even if they had arrested Suikotsu on assault, the evidence was, at best, only my shaky testimony.

Inuyasha watched after Kagome, a little proud, a little sad, a little exasperated. His pale hair, pulled in a short ponytail, made me remember you. I heard my voice crack when I spoke to him.

I need a favor from you, Inuyasha.

He took a while to respond. His eyes were swallowing Kagome, and they were pained. When he finally nodded in acknowledgment, I went on.

I need you to take me somewhere.

Yeah, he replied. I'll take you anywhere you want to go.

I also need you to keep this a secret.

Sure.

From Kagome.

His breathing grew sharp, agitated. What's so special that it must be kept from Kagome? he asked.

I merely study the ceiling tiles.

He glared at me, annoyance rising. Then he let out a slow whistle; he crossed his arms and leaned, deflated, against the wall. Yeah, I'll do it, he yielded.

And I require you to take me in a car.

Yeah, he said. Yeah. Whatever you say, Kikyou. Just, where do you want me to go?

( - )

_Ah, I'm sorry this is late, and short. I originally wrote it with a description of the violence; but I really disliked it in reading it over; shortening the reference to the abuse with a summary and series of impressions fit with Kikyou's voice more. No Sesshoumaru—but next chapter is pivotal, involves Sess, and almost completed. On a different note Winter Quarter is almost over, just two days of Finals Week and then I have a week and a half of break (thank god). Can't promise any updates beyond part fourteen, but I'm keeping my fingers crossed. R+R, and I might just post it by the end of the weekend.  
_

Thanks to **Somei Yoshino**, **Lieberisse**, **EnigmaticArsenic**, **CrisscrossAnime**, and **Cold Kikyo **for your awesome reviews.

_**EnigmaticArsenic**: The very fact that you have on your profile "I just didn't want you guys to think I've forgotten or am quitting or anything like that" is frightening. Gah, don't quit, please. Don't even think about quitting! Even long waits between updates is better than quitting... _


	14. fourteen: he moves to checkmate

* * *

( - )

**STORM SONG**_  
_

( - )

* * *

_ .part fourteen._

( - )

My fourth session ended precisely at six-thirty pm. My new psychiatrist barely smiled as I left her office. She scribbled away in my file, squirreling information away with a greedy lick of her lips. Through the session I could see her pupils dilating in surprise, her nostrils flare, and her throat bobble as she stifled her comments. Though she didn't cut into my dried narrative, I could see her fidgeting to know more. I began to wonder if they were working, the sessions, or if my money was going to waste. But there's an element of relief in relating those little stones of disappointment that's built up over the years, so I resolved to keep paying and keep coming.

Leaving out the front, I found the Mercedes as the sun blinked its fatigue. I slid in the back seat.

Good evening, I muttered.

I can scarcely see how this evening is good—you said. Your voice jolted me; I looked up. I realized it wasn't Inuyasha's pale hair I'd observed climbing in, but yours. Your reflected eyes burned in the rear-view mirror.

—Not when only tonight I found out where my brother was absconding off in my most expensive car, and who he likes to abscond with.

Inumura Sesshoumaru. My shoulders and my voice stiffened. It is a good evening, nonetheless. Did you like the drive out here?

You ignored me. I wonder how you'd found out, and whether Inuyasha had told you everything or only where he took me on these biweekly trips. Did you, upon discovery, fly out to meet me, in order to satisfy your sadomasochistic urge of confrontation? You were impeccably attired again, professional and impersonal down to your starched sleeve-cuffs—you were lying, pretending this was just business. Your only emotional display as you glared at me is in your chipped voice, and perhaps the contemptuous flickering sneer that may or may not have dwelled on the left corner of your lips.

Tell me, Higurashi, what are you doing at this medical building fifty miles from your home, and why is it my brother carts you to and fro?

I don't have to answer these questions, Inumura-sama. I am not in custody, and you are not an interrogator.

You idly turn your head. Your fingers flip a switch and the doors locked with a smooth sliding click.

But you _are _in my custody now, Higurashi Kikyou, and I've become an interrogator.

My heart stopped. Started again.

The engine purred alive; you maneuvered out of the parking lot and onto the straight, solitary road. Outside the dusted dark windows, I saw smudges of landscape moving past at an ever-quickening pace. You could disguise your thoughts in your masked expression, Sesshoumaru, but the details will forever divulge the truth you don't want to accept; your foot's steady pressure on the pedal, the disturbing sense of constant acceleration—you may think I, like everyone else, won't recognize you in turmoil. You're too easy for me to read.

Wintry silence permeated within and throughout the vehicle; I felt my bones ice and chill.

You crack your lips once to speak; your eyes flickered to the mirror, and settled on my neck. Don't lie; I saw you clearly blanch and look away when you caught a sight of my skin, pale and gray in the half-light. What were you thinking? Of violence? Of tenderness? Of both.

We were on the freeway, tearing past the other friendless cars and down the darkening landscape, when you decide to finally begin questioning me. But contrary to my expectation, you didn't ask anything. You already knew. Under your arctic-frozen envy, you had always known.

Inuyasha feels an obligation to women in pain. He's obligated to you.

I thought, it's true.

You're using him for your own ends.

And that was true, too.

Suikotsu, he did that, you stated. I realized you had seen the half-healed, half-hidden would on my temple, which I'd tried to conceal with bangs. But they didn't, they couldn't miss your scrutiny. I glanced up, caught the flex of your wrist as you shifted onto another lane. The car responded fluidly to your touch.

I swallowed, drilled my gaze at some impersonal spot on the dashboard.

Perhaps.

The car swerved, veering on the tarmac; I heard tires squealing as the car behind us slammed on its breaks. You ignored other driver's furious glare as you pulled to the side of the road. What unnerved me the most was not that you suddenly and without warning stopped, but that you did it calmly, almost serene.

_Perhaps_, you say. Every word in your throat was a round river stone. _Perhaps. _Don't fuck with me, Miss Higurashi.

I felt my heart involuntarily clutch up at your use of obscenity. I never imagined anything unsanitary, anything so _base_ could emerge from you. You'd always carried yourself with grace and absentminded superiority; 'fuck' was not Inumura Sesshoumaru's word. Obscenities belonged to your obscene brother. Had I lowered you to his level? Or were you unwillingly debasing yourself to get at me?

I asked you a question, and you'd do well to answer me.

Inumura-sama, I told you, I don't_ want_ to do well.

You turned off the engine and unlocked the car. You slammed the door shut and walked to the embankment on the side of the highway. I took my chance and slipped out right after you; I wasn't about to be locked in again. The highway was in a dip within the landscape between two small hills, the road surrounded by thick trees. You stood rooted in the pebbly dirt of the bank like a salt pillar. Night had fallen by now; you were a blurred shadow against the looming trees.

I stayed beside the car, watching you glower. I wouldn't compromise dignity by flagging down a car, not so late at night. It was too dangerous for me to leave. You were too dangerous for me to leave.

—You disturb me.

I hadn't expected you to say _that_. Involuntarily I looked over; your gaze glinted toward me. A passing car briefly flashed light across our stopping area; apprehension and comprehension shook my hands. I was cold.

You disturb me, and that is unacceptable.

I was intoxicated with you; my attachment for you grew only out of whatever psychological insight I chose to read—accurate or not—into your gestures, your expressions, your movements. But at the same time I _knew_ you as well as anyone else ever did, and better. Essentially, you were my half-silvered mirror; superimposed over your image was my reflection, and our likenesses fit perfectly. And what I knew—what I grasped at this point—was that you were also just as intoxicated. A half-silvered mirror, after all, can work both ways.

I'd always assumed what interested you was physical attraction; that you had read my attraction from my face and, in traditional vanity, echoed it for no other reason but self-indulgence. But you wanted to be understood; you wanted to be transparent and ultimately knowable to someone, and that someone was me.

The only ones we didn't know, whose motives were completely foreign to us, were ourselves.

A car wailed past, breaking the taut quiet. I gently went down the embankment until I stood in front of you. It's too cold, I told you. Let's go.

Apologies for the inconvenience.

Sarcasm doesn't suit you.

You stalked up to your car, clicking impatiently at the lock, and quickly I found myself in the front passenger seat, belted in. The Mercedes rumbled to life; I stole looks at you out of the side of my eye, wondering what you were thinking. How could anyone be so upset over something they had no control over, over some other man's moment of senselessness, over me?

Our lives are similar; they are made up of routine, of steady advancement. Mine was through the halls of academia; yours was through the ranks of the business world. This disruption, this place for turbulence we maintain for each other in that hope (that empty hope) of being known and perhaps even loved—that disruption was anything but constructive. Reflecting this as you eased onto the freeway and made your steady climb toward a hundred kph, I said to you,

Stop thinking about me.

You stiffened. A denial verged on your tongue. Warmth, for once, seemed to spread in your scent, on your skin.

I continued, if you forget me, forget this ever happened, then I'll do the same, and we can go on living in our old pattern, in peace.

You drove on in silence, slicing through the darkness. The road was deserted now; there was no one else but the two of us, alienated from all and from each other. It was a starless night. The darkness outside the window never looked so vast.

I refuse to forget.

Those for words changed me, softened me, amazed me. I looked at you with wonder; I was at a loss of words. I had no doubt that you would see the wisdom, the logic, of what I was proposing. I had no doubt it would be better for the both of us, both professionally and personally, if this misguided craze was forgotten. But you had flat out refused.

I had nothing to say; incredulous and—dare I say it—pleased, I spent the rest of the ride back contemplating what barrier we had just dissolved.

As we entered Tokyo, I glanced at the car clock; the time read 19:42.

Please drop me off at the library, I murmured. I don't feel like going back just yet.

You stopped at the red light; dozens of people milled past us on their way home from work.

Some of the magic had been lost when we came closer to real civilization. As artificial lights crowded us, casting an unnatural glow into the Mercedes cabin, I noticed that your expression hardened, become as rigid as the twisted iron buildings you worked in. The darkness of the roadside had softened the carved lines and planes of your face; now under the half-light, you looked the world-weary entrepreneur whose skin you must slip into daily, and whose mask you've worn so often that you could no longer distinguish where the capitalist ended and where the man began.

It might have been time to differentiate between them once more, you must have decided. Not consciously, of course. You aren't nearly so self-aware. Without shifting your focus from the road, you asked, Would you like to have dinner with me?

The light turned green.

My cheeks stung. I blinked, remembered to breathe.

Yes.

You drove on.

( - )

_Update was faster than I thought it'd be, hey. I'm not sure if I'm completely satisfied with this chapter; I'd still like to edit and tweak it, but that would take way too much time out of my schedule. Thanks to _**Cold Kikyo**_ for the review. The next couple chapters will probably focus on Sesshoumaru and Kikyou trying to figure out where a relationship fits into their lives, and then I'm planning on dwelling a little on Kikyou's selective memory and how they're healing that. Alright, people, please review. _

_Now it's off to study for my finals. _


	15. fifteen: the crux

( - )

**STORM SONG**

( - )

* * *

.part fifteen.

( - )

Your hand gripping my wrist.

Your fingers digging into my shirt, your breath against my neck, your lips across my collarbone.

The mild scent of sweat.

We had controlled ourselves—pasted civilized miens over our rioting primal cores—and followed etiquette through a short dinner. I didn't mind you fumbling with your silverware when I mentioned first meeting your brother, and you gently ignored my trembling fingers when you notified me that Jaken still lived with you. But there was jealousy behind our smiling masks, jealousy in the way our fingers tightened on our wine glasses and in the way we tried not to consume each other with our eyes.

Thank you for this evening, I'd said to you as you finally pulled up in front of the shrine. I took your hand and held it for a brief moment in thanks and, perhaps, in friendship.

You accepted it. Indeed, that moment was all the persuasion that you needed.

On my next inhale, you had reached across to me and sunken your fingers into my hair, behind my ear, cupping my cheek with the base of your hand. Your kiss was slow, burning. I could taste wine faintly on you; my head spun. Kissing you back positioned me at the helm of the storm, riding on the crest of flashing, thundering provocation. Gently, you persuaded my lips to part with your own and your tongue softly introduced magic on mine.

We didn't speak, we didn't say any of the expected phrases. You didn't tell me you'd been waiting for this for a long time. I didn't say to you I'd never done this before, and would you please go slow, go light. Instead, we let our lips, our eyes, our fingertips communicate.

You deftly undid the first few buttons of my blouse. My hands found their way to your jaw, resting on your neck, twisting in your hair. I gently pressed my lips against the space right above one arch eyebrow. Your hands gripped my wrist, your breath assailed my neck.

I shivered.

And as swiftly as it had begun, it ended. I drew myself out of you, untangled you from me, and waited until you'd pulled back.

Good night.

I was out of the car before you could protest—not that you would—and on the steps, receding into the shrine grounds. I didn't bother with Kagome's anxious, furious face and Inuyasha's guilt-laden sulking after I arrived home. They wanted to demand questions, but I cut them off silently and smiled. I think my face might have been glowing. Up to my room I went, and the door clicked shut like the succinct, coppery end of an argument.

Instead of Inuyasha, you now took me to and from the medical center. Every trip, just before you'd kiss me goodnight, I'd tell you a little more of what happened that night, or a little more of why I had to go to the medical center in the first place. But I didn't tell you all. That's the purpose behind this account now, nearly three months after my last session. It has taken a while for me to finally gather my thoughts and be able to approach this uncovered truth without the breakdown. My strength has grown, my core fortified, Sesshoumaru. I won't lie and say that I did it for you, because I did it for me. I did it so that my life would hold truth once more, and I could trust my perceptions again. It's an intrinsic selfishness—one you understand without fail. You operate on the same principles, after all.

But I'm avoiding the point. You see, somewhere toward the end of a string of anecdotes on university life, on the alienation I felt within my own family, on, yes, you—somewhere toward the end of that, my psychologist asked why I had come to live with my aunt in the first place, and with Grandmother Midoriko before she died, bless her.

The truth eventually emerged, like a bone bared to air, stripped of the twitching muscles I padded it with.

Afterward, I went into shock and cried. That was the night you waited for me forty minutes past the end of my session. I had required medical attention for about half of it—what? Oh, of course, I'm sorry I didn't tell you then, I apologize for ignoring your obvious disquiet. (I love you for caring.) But even after I had composed myself, the truth stewed heavily on my mind, draping itself over my speech function, and I couldn't speak for fear I'd forget to breath.

Even now, it's so difficult to verbalize this; when I think of it, a miasma settles and thickens on my lungs.

Here is the bare truth: My mother, strung out on various prescription drugs, killed my father. Brutally. Then committed suicide. I walked in on them dying. The apartment lit on fire; I was rescued before I was burned to death, but ever since then—

She loved him dearly; they'd been parted for life the way some birds pair up, ever faithfully. And they loved me. How can you learn to accept that sort of love and emotional attachment again when those who loved you the most died violently, without any thought of your well-being?

Forgetting—remembering only what you will—even rewriting the past—it was an effective way to go on with my childhood. And that's how I used to handle all emotional situations. I'd never grown particularly close to any of my family, _anyone_, because I would have to recreate them in my mind, and forget them. Realizing this was 'the first milestone,' my psychiatrist said. After that my case was cut and dried, and all my problems firmly attributed to childhood trauma, she lost interest. That's why I stopped going; treatment at that point could do nothing that my own willpower wouldn't achieve. I was more at ease with willpower, too, that familiar tonic.

It takes effort, darling, effort not to twist myself into believing the comfortable—the emotionless—lie. It's taken more effort ever since I met you, ever since you bullied your way under my skin, ever since I've first been able, been compelled to utilize _empathy_, to make myself assailable, vulnerable, accessible.

I'm not cured, Sesshoumaru. I still avoid Suikotsu, I still catch myself rewriting the pain I experience. Still, I'm not going to dramatize and hyperbolize where I am right now—those weeks of fury and insecurity are finished. Don't fret after me, don't shelter me—I've come to accept pain, unaltered pain—especially if it's associated with you.

I'm telling you this because you need to know who exactly I am, but also for my own good. We aren't what your brother and my sister call themselves. 'Soulmates': we're not even close. I sometimes think of the day our goals and concerns will diverge, and we move on from this _temporal_ attachment. Yet the night before last, you asked for a commitment, a hard and definitive line. My answer is, yes: I'm ready, and more than willing. It would be unfair for both of us, if you weren't either.

I'm only asking for your acceptance of what I now reveal, nothing more. You know that I have no need for any more love and protection from you than you already impart.

So, my impervious, unflappable lord… so what do you say now?

…

Oh, you precious man, don't make me cry.

**Finis**.

( - )

_This ends Kikyou's narrative. There will be one more chapter, and an epilogue. _

_Thanks to _**Lucinda2323**, **PriestessAmy13**, **Lieberisse, selena**, **SakuraAngelina**, **Cold Kikyo, rawr!**, _and_ **Azn Kikyo the Kutee** _for reviewing. I'm not exactly satisfied with this chapter; I think the whole childhood trauma excuse might have been treated with too much cliché, but at this point I just want to get out "part sixteen" and the epilogue. I guess I've always been more interested in weaving together the chase rather than the actual day-to-day relationship, so I'm hoping the next chapter satisfies. Updates will be pretty quick after this, two weeks at the most. _

_(In case anyone's wondering, I did fine on my finals. Rocked English and History, and pretty much failed physics, but that was expected.) _

**_To _****PriestessAmy13**: _I'm so glad that this story has allowed you to think of Kikyou in a new light; I do think that Kikyou needs better representation in the IY fanon, because she's a complex character that many people often stereotype into a few words: "whore," "bitch," and their synonyms. I've tried to give pretty accurate representation of all the characters I've introduced, including Suikotsu's multiple-personality problems, as well as Inuyasha and Kagome's relationship. I hope you keep reading Kikyou-sympathetic fiction. Thanks for checking this one out. _

_To _**Lucinda2323**_: Thank you for your profuse, sweet review. I'm so glad you liked it so much; I know I loved writing it_. :-3


	16. sixteen: second face of the angel

* * *

x

**STORM SONG**

x

* * *

_.ending theme._

xxx

The first time she stayed the night, he woke at the sudden shift of the bed as she left his side and rustled toward the bathroom. He heard the water running, and a window opening, and a sigh. He closed his eyes, running his hand over the warm, almost imperceptible imprint she'd stamped onto his bed, into his sheets, and slept again.

-

Rin cries, 'She's only four years older than I am! Sesshoumaru-sama!' And he replies,

'Age matters little.'

'How could you? I'm so disgusted with you.'

'Who I choose to associate with has little to do with you, girl. Save your disapproval.'

'Listen to me,' she begins, an argument mounting behind her eyes, hot and fluid.

'You are the ward, I the guardian. Do not question me.'

The tears begin quickly and there is an eternity between every drop; the girl yells to him before she runs to her room and slams the door, 'I hate you.'

-

He likes it when she comes to visits him while he works, reading a text at the window seat of his office. He smells her perfume (it's new, brisk and sweet, he'd bought it for her) and watches her in between finalizing the new mergers. Her eyes look the best in the shade, as the rest of her is lit up in sunlight.

She understands the meaning of silence. They communicate wordlessly. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and smiles. She knows he's watching her, and he knows she knows; this thought turns him back to his work. Though his hand scribes his signature into the ledger, his mind is filled with her perfume.

-

'Sesshoumaru-sama, I find it hard to accept this woman as your… paramour.'

He landed a good blow onto the punching bag. Roundhouse kick.

'She is my choice.'

'Is she right for you?'

He sees himself sweating in the mirrored training room, his pale hair pulled into a long, sticky ponytail, the tattoos on his wrist peeking out from his exercise outfit.

'Jaken, I've decided.'

'But Rin—'

Another harsh blow, and the punching bag disintegrated under his touch. It crashed to the floor and split in three.

'Rin is not a child any longer; she will learn to accept the unacceptable, and I do not endeavor to protect her.'

'Still, this Kikyou is fifteen years youn—'

'Jaken.'

'Yes, milord. I'm sorry, milord.'

-

When one night he returns to his apartment with bandaged knuckles and a scrap across his nose, she says, 'I've waited four hours.' When he says nothing in reply, she slips on her shoes and goes home. He visualizes her composing the apology note in her head as she hails her taxi, and knows she will look up Suikotsu's mailing address when she arrives home.

-

'How much do they suspect, do you think?' she says, flipping through one of his few photo albums, her attention resting on a photo of the two brothers as preadolescents, round-cheeked and wide-eyed. Her thumb and forefinger circles her wrist and she rubs at it, deep in thought. Next to her elbow is a half-empty mug of green tea. He's mildly distracted by it; is she going to knock it over?

'Inuyasha knows of us.'

'Kagome doesn't say anything about it. She doesn't say anything to me at all.'

'Perhaps there is no need.'

'Still—'

'Kikyou, they do not concern me.'

'No,' she says after a sip of tea. 'No, I suppose they do not.'

He reaches across the breakfast table and pulls the mug to the center of the table. 'Tell me instead, woman, of matters of significance. Have you been granted the scholarship?' When she sighs and begins to speak, he listens to her instead of the obstinate thuds of flat feet stalking away from the dining room; he even neglects to feel concern that Rin would leave without breakfast.

His life is his own. And perhaps a sliver of it rests, too, in Kikyou's mug, drifting like a tiny tea leaf across her pale surfaces.

-

A brilliantly coiffed and painted Tanaka Kagura visits his building one night while it is raining softly, soft as the footfalls of kittens. She looks ravishing. 'I've heard a rumor about you and a little girl, my dear man,' she says to him.

'They're true.'

If Kikyou ever asks, he'll tell her the truth: he has slept with Tanaka Kagura, and he has enjoyed it. He sees no need to protecting Kikyou. She is not one of those weak, lily-like women who need constant support and fostering in order to blossom. To him, she is a desert flower, and prefers candor, arid though it may be, to nourishing lies.

'I'm not sure I approve, Sesshoumaru,' Kagura said, her hand sliding down her side to pause at her hip.

He watches her.

He never assured his fidelity to Kikyou; she's never asked for it.

-

He brings up this issue that night, holding her (she's so cold, cold like death to the touch) against him. Her kiss is warm like the inside muscle of a relaxed heart. 'This does not concern me,' she tells him. He had half-known her reply already; it didn't surprise him. She refuses to speak any more on the subject, her cold hands pass up and down his tattooed arms. He kisses her neck and lets the silence shroud them in a deep blanket of dust and slumber.

-

But the issue haunts him.

-

He sees Inuyasha in the garden with her one holiday. They are engaged, together, in hushed, private conversation. Inuyasha looks strangely relieved. Inuyasha reaches out and briefly places his hand on Kikyou's. It is a brotherly gesture, but still he is jealous. He smashes a paperweight by accident as he sweeps his arm back to reach (he doesn't know what he's reaching for—a lamp? A phone? A sword?) Then he remembers (thank fucking serendipity) the row of expensive wine glasses lined neatly in his office cabinet.

The floor is littered with shards worth thousands when Jaken comes in to announce dinner.

-

He loves it when she reaches for his hand and curls her fingers into his own.

(He'd never admit it.)

He keeps thinking of fidelity.

-

Rin stops sulking after a couple months. If he read her right, there was grudging admiration and sometimes almost fanatical respect in the place of indignation and outrage. Soon, she goes for homework help to Kikyou instead of him. He is unsure whether to be injured or relieved.

-

It is the key to his luxury apartment first. Then the keys to his cars. Then new clothes hangers in his closet and a space cleared out for her in his bathroom. Slippers in her size. A coffee cup for her. When he asks her to move in, she doesn't seem surprised. It had been inevitable, after all. But formally moving in—he knew the implications of what he requested. Still, she didn't jump at the chance like his past girlfriends and lovers. (He'd barely offered it to any of them; moving in with Sesshoumaru was a pipe dream for those girls.)

But Kikyou didn't say yes immediately, and she didn't say yes as he closed the door to his (their) room, and she didn't say yes in the shower with him while he kissed her shoulder, and she didn't say yes waking up with him in the predawn twilight.

He feels fear for the first time in seven years.

-

He doesn't love her. Or, at least, not in the traditional sense of the word. Love—what they had isn't love. They're not soulmates.

But he needs her. He needs her to listen, he needs her to understand, he needs her to care. And he cares about her. It took no effort to care, either. He'd chosen to adopt Rin because, seven years ago, she appealed _naturally_ and was effortless to care about her well-being. He'd chosen to stay in contact with (and indeed keep a room for) his little brother because it was a little too effortless to be troubled over him. And none of them had the automatic rapport that occurs with her. He needs her deeply. She fills him.

-

She finishes her narrative.

He regards the curve of her jaw and his lips tug at the folly of human nature. He'd assumed the worst at first; the truth itself rests startling and precious.

And fearsome.

She is waiting for affirmation, though her expression didn't betray it—he knows her well enough to understand why she's told him this. It is their last dance, their most momentous interchange; somehow the pressure of decision has been shifted to himself. Like always, he is supposed to rise to the challenge. Sesshoumaru realizes the meaning of weariness; it is the end of their masquerades. It is a lifetime of destiny concentrated into a mouthful of language.

He is not afraid.

xxx

_Thanks to_ **Azn Kikyo the Kutee, SakuraAngelina, Cold Kikyo,**_and _**Lucinda2323**_ for the reviews_.

_Just the epilogue left now. I hope Sesshoumaru didn't seem too soft, but I thought he should really care for the few people that matter. Anyway, I really like the impressionistic sketches of this part. I can't believe _Storm Song _is almost over, but (gasp) it is; and none too soon, it's almost a year to the day it was uploaded. Thank you to my reviewers who've stuck with this little story. It wasn't supposed to be this long. I kinda want to use this Author's Note to shamelessly plug my next idea, but I don't know how far I'm going with it, so we'll see if you'll see it up on FF(dot)Net. Thanks for reading; please review! _


	17. seventeen: epilogue

* * *

( - )

**STORM SONG**

( - )

* * *

.epilogue.

( - )

You'd always remarked on how small my hands were, in comparison to yours. You didn't say much about me otherwise; silence is your staple. But sometimes, sitting together on a bench, or riding in the backseat of a musty taxi, you'd take my hand and spread your fingers across it. You dwarfed me—your hand was paler than even mine, crisscrossed with veins strong and blue. You have ice running in you.

I must have been so small, so collapsible, like a kitten in your palm. When you planted your kisses right under my ear, when your arm pressed against my skin and lit it up like an electric flame, I could not speak. I could not even breathe. My breath hitched lightly and I could've suffocate right then, quietly asphyxiating before you lifted your lips away.

What exactly do they say about May-December relationships? I don't remember now, but I'm sure it's along the lines of "they never last." You and I know first hand that they don't last: they can't.

You were heading your company when I found myself in an internship in Singapore. You came to the airport. You kissed me. And then you turned and just walked away; I watched you until even your distinctive pale hair disappeared into the crowd, disappeared into the tears that blurred my vision and made every color sharper, gem-like. I don't remember the time of that flight. I don't remember the airline. I do remember swathes of heartbreaking blue. Blue you could sink into.

I didn't shed a tear. By the time I touched down at Singapore, I had nothing more to say. I folded you up like a paper crane and tucked you away next to my new job portfolio and Rin's parting gift. You slipped from my mind elusively, gently edging yourself away from my thoughts until only a feeling of what-was-almost-love lingered at the back of my mind. You lay dormant within me for nine years.

Until now.

Rin looks beautiful in that dress, doesn't she? A western style wedding, a brilliant white gown, orange lilies spilled across the chapel. She's twenty-seven, she's radiant, she's not yours any longer. You are now older, yet still the same. I still get shivers when you slide your hand around my waist and sway on the dance floor. You dance only once at these functions, I remember. Only once, and this time with me.

They look at us, you know, the eligible women and the eligible men. They wonder about us, Kagome and Inuyasha especially. But you make no move to kiss me and I make no move to speak, so here we are locked in a two-step, moving in perfect synchrony—like a couple would.

We've ceased being a couple a long time ago.

Parting, they say, is such sweet sorrow. But parting from you tonight will induce no tears, only a faint wash of regret staining my hands where I have touched you and my cheek which you gently kissed at the end our dance. You and I both know that after tonight, after Rin has been swept away and the guests all pretty much gone, we will remain and watch each other from opposite sides of the room. I will burn the memory of you into my memory, like a tattoo at the base of my spine. If you touch me again, I will vibrate in harmony to you and that almost-love I have forgotten will rise up from the base of my spine and flood me, flood every inch of me from the monsoon raging in my stomach, until I melt into you and we pick up where we left off.

But you do not touch me, and I do not touch you, and we sit on opposite sides of the room and watch each other, daring the other to make the first move.

I give. I rise out of my seat, tuck my purse under my arm, and walk toward the door. Before I leave, I smile for the last time at you. I pretend I don't see my longing reflected in your expression, in your eyes. God, your eyes.

The night is brisk and autumnal, the sky overcast. I know you are sitting still in your seat, wondering and wondering. I'm doing the same thing. But life has a slovenly habit of moving on, and as clocks tick us closer to our graves and further from each other, you and I both know that there's no point to going back to the beginning. There is no handy Restart button.

And as once again I leave you, as once again I am the one that starts the car and drives into the night, that seats myself for passage to Singapore and New York and Prague, you slip away slowly, like fog rolling out of ports in late morning, or the gradual evaporation of a standing pool. We both knew we would never see each other again. That is the truth caught between our stares tonight. But, Sesshoumaru, no matter how I may wish you had said more to me than a few syllables of greeting, or that you had come forward and kissed me and engulfed me back into the mysteries and secrecies we'd held about us, I'm glad it didn't happen. We've left that crossroads.

I wander the world now, in search of a home. I go through Mediterranean islands and down into Arabic embassies. I take stints in giant metropolises and find work in rural settings. I am content, all alone. But when I find a home, Sesshoumaru, when I finally rest my feet and nestle my heart down—I won't forget. I will shed a single concentrated tear for you.

And that will be the end of that.

**F I N**

( - )

It's done! A year to the day, too.

Thank you to **Eloise300**, **Cold Kikyo, Azn Kikyo the Kutee, ****Lieberisse, **and **EnigmaticArsenic** for reviewing the last chapter, and advance thanks to reviewers of the epilogue.

I decided that there would be no happily ever after in this story, unlike _A Garden Variety Love Story_. Reality is bittersweet, after all. Just not painted as bloody-purple as I have here. A little backstory on why I started _Storm Song_: last year at about this time I found myself in love with a guy three years older than me who was going across the country to college. By exaggerating the age difference and transplanting the emotions I felt with him onto the first couple chapters of _Storm Song_, I found myself with something actually pretty good. Since then I've gotten over him. But there is something magical about this story, about these select moments that jump out and resonate with me. I think in the end, I'm pretty satisfied with it.

Thank you to everyone that reviewed or read this story. Thank you to all of you who've put it on your alerts and favorites. I hope it has satisfied.


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